An Angels Path
by Be Kat
Summary: Warren and Tris both reside in selfimposed exile, afraid of what others will think of their mutations. One from the cream of the crop, the other an unwanted foster child. Can they find a semblance of peace together? Chapter twentythree up
1. Meeting

**Chapter One**

"Look, I promise not to ogle a _single_ guy in the _entire_ club if you promise to choose _one_ guy to dance with."

I sighed. Jubilee, queen of italics, dragged me along to some club. Yes, I'm nineteen. Yes, I'm underage for alcohol consuption.

So what am I doing with a untouched Coors in front of me, in a night club?

Just then, the full import of Jubilee's statement hits me. Jubilee, the insatiable wander slut, promising to leave guys alone?

This is obviously a serious matter.

"Look, Jubes, I can't just choose a guy ... you know that. It isn't that simple for me."

Hello, and welcome to my mutated world. I'm a level four telepath, telekinetic, and touch empath. My physical appearance is ... somewhat unusual; namely I have pointed ears and slitted pupils. An exceptional sense of human smell (in other words, it's darn good for a normal human) and unusual agility and strength only add on to the mess called Tris. As such, choosing a guy doesn't isn't a simple procedure consisting of you-have-a-nice-bod-well-thats-good-enough-for-me. Because it just _isn't_ enough for me. I can sense who and what they _are, _not to mention knowing all their sordid little secrets and whatever emotions they happen to be feeling at the moment. Plus I look like a sure-fire mutant to top it all off.

This makes the impulsive choosing of a guy out of the crowd somewhat problematic.

Jubilee is giving me a glare. Jubes has a glare for every occasion. Some of the more common are the 'I can't believe you (insert insane action here)' glare (reserved almost exclusively for Iceman), the 'I hate your miserable guts and hope you die of cyanne overdose' glare (generally for ex-boyfriends and Pheonix), the 'I'm so incredulous it's not even funny' glare (I have to say that's for Wolverine and Xavier usually), and, worst of all, the glare she was currently giving me, the 'I love you but this is for your own good' glare. I'm certain the last was invented soley for the purpose of torturing her supposed best friend.

Me.

"So turn off. For once in your life, live a little. Look around the room, choose a guy because he's hot and a good dancer, deck his current girlfriend, and ask him out! You've had _one _boyfriend in your entire life. Let somebody else break your heart besides you for a change."

I wince internally. Jubilee has an evil tongue and a decent guessing average when she gets worked up. Oh, Piotr wasn't my only boyfriend and he didn't break my heart, I did that, but ... I'm not going to think about him right now. In fact, I'm not going to think about him at all, period.

I sigh. My mutations of telepathy and empathy can be turned off and on at will, and my shielding defeats even the Professor. But after Piotr, every guy has to meet up to my standards. He has to be honest, trustworthy, and absolutely...

Oh. My. God.

"Woooooooow."

Obviously Jubilee picked up on the same guy I did.

I think Jesus just entered the room. Well, a blond and white-skinned Jesus wearing a trench coat, but ... you can practically see the halo.

"Jubes, he's mine."

Jubilee gapes at me. I shut my eyes, and try to hide everything that makes me a mutant. Empathy and telepathy, gone. Telekinesis, in check. Pupils ... okay, no longer quite so like slits in the dark, maybe he won't notice. Ears I can't change, but if I rearange a few curls the tips aren't so obvious. I suppose I ought to be happy that my outward mutations are so easy to hide, unlike Beast and Nightcrawler.

Sorry, did I forget to introduce myself? I'm Tris, aka Path. But that's my working name. Right now, Tris will do just fine.

I've never felt so naked in my life. With my usual spying methods gone, I'll have to relate like every other person.

This was a bad idea.

I am about to go and talk to a gorgeous guy voluntarily and ask him to dance.

I suddenly wish I hadn't been my usual fashion-ignorant self and worn something other than these loose jeans and a tank. Maybe I can turn around before it's too late. Maybe...

He's turned. He's looking at me.

Well. That's a bit odd. His upper body shouldn't be _that _thick, even under a coat.

"Would you like to dance?"

Wait a minute, that was _my_ line! Well, if he decided to take the responsibility out of my hands, I'm not about to argue with him.

"Sure. Let me take my jacket off." If I'm going to dance, I want to make sure I'm not in that tiny little excuse for a jacket/corset that Jubes made me wear.

"Mind if I don't?"

Well, that's an odd question. Maybe he has a beer belly to make up for that hunky face. Well, I don't care. I'm about to dance! I can already feel the vibrations coursing through me. I used to love to dance, before The Incident, and being down on the floor with this gorgeous guy is more than I can take.

"Naw, doesn't make any difference to me. Slow or fast?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "Fast, if you can keep up."

"Keeping up has never been a problem for _me_."

I can't believe this. I'm flirting. I'm lieing and flirting. So what? Loosen up girl, Jubes is right. Live a little.

And he's so good-looking.

He leads me over to the corner where the fast couple dancing is going on.

I hope I haven't over reached myself.

Come on, you're Katherine, the girl who used to be able to dance circles around everyone else. Live a little. Is it just me, or is that getting monotonous?

Still, I think I better start out with just some basic moves. After all, this wasn't exactly my perfew so far as dancing went

Before Blondy has a chance to react, I'm dancing.

Let's see, I've watched Jubilation do this hundreds of times. Merge with the crowd, rolling off other bodies, posing, rubbing. Just move with the music girl, remember, you're dancing for him. Flip a hip, twirl the hair.

I turn around and face my partner, keeping my hips moving. He looks shell-shocked. I stop.

"What's wrong?"

Shit, was I that bad? Good going, just chased him off Path.

"You a dancer?"

I look away, avoiding eye contact in the hope he doesn't notice my pupils. "Almost was, a while ago." It's my turn to raise an eyebrow. "But it was ballet and formal, not ..." I indicate the crowd.

"What's your name?"

I look back. This is pretty friendly for just a quick dance. "Tris. Yours?"

His lips twitch. "Warren."

I can't help it, I have to laugh. So Jesus was not so close. "Almost worse than mine." Noticing the brief flick of emotion across his face, I inquire, "You still want to dance?"

He grimaces. "On seeing how you dance, I'm afraid I won't be an adequate partner after all."

"All right." Are you watching Jubes? I'm living dangerously. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder what you slipped in the water I insisted on drinking.

Keeping my eyes on his left ear (well, it happens to be a very _cute _left ear), I move closer. "I could just dance while you watch." Did I mention that another catlike ability of mine is purring?

My peropheral vision sees his eyes widen. "I think I might enjoy that."

I grin. Yup, Jubes definately put something in my drink. I used to be an semi-acomplished flirt, and the skills are coming back after their long and dusty storage, but still ... "Make yourself comfortable."

I walk up on the stage and stalk over to the DJ. "Hey, could you put on _Hear Me _for me?" He gives the equipment he's fiddling on a weird look without even looking up. "Sure. Kelly Clarkson, right?"

So I know the rest of the audience will be laughing. It's hardly a get-down-and-dirty song, but I danced a ruitine to it long ago and at this point familiarity is a must. "Right."

I walk down the steps this time, trying to be a little more ladylike than before. Why do I want to impress this guy so much?

Maybe I have pheromones after all. Or perhaps I'm just a horny eighteen-year old. Take your pick.

He's waiting for me when I get back, although I notice a few girls giving him the once over. I give them Kitty's patented, 'Back off, tonight this one is mine' stare she taught me.

The music stops for split second, and the DJ rifles through a dusty drawer. I don't think Kelly Clarkson is in much demand at this place.

"Follow me." I give Warren a bit of a flirty look aimed somewhere around his adam's apple and start to walk through the crowd. Hmmm, could use Logan right now, that guy is an excellent crowd splitter.

Warren manages to follow my twisting path through the crowd to a dark corner. I turn around when we arrive in the only empty space on the floor to see Blondy sizing me up.

"Just stand still." That surprised him, I can tell even with my shields back up. I must be getting better at this reading body language stuff. I turn my back to him and roll up the cuffs of my baggy jeans. The thin leather slippers I am currently wearing are perfect for this ruitine. Standing there, the silence in the room as the DJ finally starts the song is precious to me. It gives me the chance to control my emotions, gather my energy. I am dancing for him. The rest of the crowd doesn't exist as I turn and look straight into his eyes.

For the first few moments of the dance the movements are slow and deliberate, not to mention easy on my slightly out-of-shape dancing legs. I wait for the strain of melody to start that signals...

There it is.

I whirl on one foot. This was the part of ballet dancing my Da never liked. Said it looked like classy pole dancing without a pole.

In other words, my seductress mask is on.

My partner for this dance originally was Mark. Dear Mark, my poor baby brother...

Don't think about it.

Warren turns as I glide behind him. "Stand still," I hiss in his ear as I lean in to breath on the back of his neck, "It's part of the dance."

He stands, and I close my eyes to a mere slit. All that matters is the small space on the floor and the blond man frozen in the middle. My goal is to taunt him and to flaunt myself.

Dearest Jubilee, those were some strong whatevers you fed me.

Once again I am the wild child of Miss Bourkes' ballet class. I flirt with the floor, the dance, and him. I exist to be watched, admired. The air is moved by the leaps and delicate turns of my slight body slicing through it. I am free to be Path, not quiet and contained, and not the dependable Tris. My identity is fused with the music, and I am only alive to keep that fusion pounding.

The dance ends with a finale where I slowly lower myself, inch by tantalizing inch, to the floor. I rest with my head there between my knees, hands splayed to support my weight, and catch my breath. God, it feels so good to do that again. I can forget how **not** beautiful I am when I dance.

Well, I hope he liked it.

I stand, stretching the long-unused muscles. Warren is staring at me as I maintain my gaze somewhere next to his left ear. "Sorry, I'm a bit out of practice. It's been a long time."

"If that was you out of practice, I want to see you in practice sometime."

I want to look into his blue eyes, but don't want to scare him off. I bite my lip and look away. "Well, it isn't exactly the most popular music around here. It's just how I know to dance."

"You said you knew formal?" He's moving closer. I haven't felt this attracted to any male since...

Scratch that. I haven't _ever _been this attracted to anyone, not on such short notice.

Just then the last person I wanted to see showed up. The floor rocked slightly as his tall form bulldozed its' way straight through the crowds towards us.

Piotr.

"Jubilee said you were with the blond." He glares at Angel.

I know I shouldn't be scared, not in this packed room, but I still instinctively edge a little to my right so Warren is between us. I hear a rustle as he turns his head slightly to watch me.

"Go away Piotr. I don't want to talk to you." I mutter, hoping against hope that the alcohol smell isn't coming from him. The last time he got drunk was the night before he left the mansion, the night he...

I'm not going to think about that.

As you can see, most of my thoughts are spent in avoiding other thoughts.

"I need to talk to you. Alone. I want to apologize..."

"Apologize with a note or something. I don't want to talk to you." Warren is still watching me rather than Piotr, hardly a smart move on his part. Piotr might not be the smartest piece of organic metal, but he is the fastest I've ever seen.

"I need to talk to you. I promise, nothing will happen." His russian accent is becoming almost noticable, which I know means he is getting angrier. I used to think it was cute...

Not after three months ago, when he came back to the mansion drunk and threw me across the room for the last time. Everyone used to believe him when he said my injuries were training accidents. I never contradicted him, so nobody had reason to think otherwise until he finally crossed the line and slapped Kitty in front of the entire team when she asked him to pass the sugar. Xavier kicked him out the next morning.

I can't believe Jubes told him where I was, not after I told the whole mansion what had really been going on. Did she think I was kidding? Maybe I should have poloroids of my broken nose x-rays circulated, if that's what it takes!

Piotr moves forward and I cringe, again instinctively. Warren moves every so slightly to the side, hiding me even more from view. I feel a sense of overwhelming relief. Piotr can be indimidating - I of all people know that! - and I was afraid that Warren would do the smart thing, and get the hell out of the way. Piotr seemed to take this movement as a direct threat of severing him from his property - namely, me.

"Look, my girlfriend and I need to talk. You mind getting out of the way?"

Warren was still watching me. I threw caution to the winds. I wouldn't let this gorgeous guy get hurt, just because of me. I tried a telepathic communication.

Huh. The man has shields like Hoover Dam. Even I can't get past them. Well, I can protect myself and him if I have to.

So why haven't I? Well, I was in love with Piotr for a long time. Love makes you do strange things, like _not _slam your boyfriend up against the wall using telekenesis because he abuses you.

But that's over now. Just like Warren and I are going to be over as soon as he makes the connection that I'm a mutant. Not that we ever really started.

Warren didn't even flinch at the message. "I don't think your _girlfriend_ is interested in going anywwhere with you right now, Mr. ...?"

"Piotr. No Mister about it."

I hear the dinstinctive sound that still raises the hair on my neck - Colosus is emerging with the crinkle of metal foil being laid down on his body in layers.

I grab Warren's hand. "Let's go." To my surprise, he neither throws my hand from his or even flinches from contact with a mutant. On the contrary, he wraps his larger palm tightly around mine, and laces our fingers. "Anything you want." He is still ignoring Piotr. I lead him from the dance floor, scoop up the jacket on the way out, and walk out to where Jubes and I left the car.

_Crap!!_

Jubes and the car are nowhere in sight. She has done this once before - she meets a cute guy, takes him to some deserted spot, and proceeds to have a fun time while I sit waiting outside a bar for her return.

"Uhhh... my friend took off with the car."

He is still watching me. I try to avoid contact with those pale blue orbs. "Some friend."

I get defensive, even though I'm about ready to rip Jubilation Lee's little heart out myself. "Sometimes she just gets carried away." Leaving the sentance their to dangle for his chosen interpretation, I look wildly around for a cab, heck I'm desperate enough to steal a motercycle by now.

"I could take you home." I realize I'm still holding his hand. I try to disengage, but his isn't letting me off so fast. "Why didn't you say you were a mutant?"

I feel like I'm five again, getting into trouble for making up a stories. Hanging my head and still trying to avoid eye contact I mumber a reply. "Because I wanted you to dance with me. And I knew you wouldn't if you thought I was a mutant."

"What made you think that? Not that I ended up dancing much anyway." I look up, it's dark enough to do that without him seeing my pupils. His eyes laugh at me.

I manage to let out a short and reluctant giggle. "Sorry about that. I learned to dance a long time ago, so that was just a ruitine I could remember." Wait; he would have danced even if he thought I was a mutant?

"Do you need a ride?" He is watching me again, and this time the fear and uncertainty are in _his_ expression.

I look around. Well, at least I know this guy, and it's not like I can't protect myself even without mutations. Logan saw to **that**!

The thought makes me smile; just a little flicker I allow myself knowing he can't see it. "Sure, why not." But I'll make sure you drop me off **before **we get to the mansion. You might be able to handle me, but I doubt you can handle the self-appointed watchmen Wolverine and Beast"Where's your car?" I look around, then back to him. His expression is sheepish.

"Actually, I don't have a car."

I groan. "Don't tell me you have a motorcycle." A small grin graces his mobile lips. I feel a sudden urge to kiss them.

Wow. Wow wow wow. _Down_ girl.

"Um, well, actually I flew." Now he looks concerned again. "You _are _a mutant, right?"

Now I'm nervous too. Is it possible, could Warren actually be...

Naaaaaw. That would be such good luck, it couldn't possibly happen to me.

"Yup. Level 4 telepath and touch empath." I neglect to mention my most dangrous and useful mutation, telekinesis, purposely. No need to throw away my main defense.

He raised an eyebrow. "Then you won't mind if I ... ah ... fly you home?"

Does he mean what I think he means? "Are you a mutant?"

He's avoiding my gaze. "I, I, um, have wings."

A feeling of relief soothes my nervousness. If he has wings (which certainly wouldn't bother me. I mean those bat/dragon wings Diane has are awesome) he can't be weird about slitted pupils and pointed ears.

Halleloua, Praise the Lord, Amen, and may all God's little children stay away from this one 'cause he's _mine_.

I shrug. "So?"

His look is incredulous with a tinge of hope I can feel through the hand still clutching mine.

"But..."

"But?" he repeats, the tinge of hope leaking away.

"But I'm afraid of heights."

"Oh. You could not look."

I shake my head. "No, I'll just call for a ride. My place isn't that far from here. I'll be okay." I look down at our still entertwined fingers. He follows my gaze and instantly drops my hand. I look back up into his blue eyes. "Thank you for that. With Piotr I mean. I'll be okay."

He eyes bore into mine. "Okay?"

"Okay." I'm beginnning to feel like there's an echo in here. I suddenly feel daring. "Look, you want to come back with me? I live at a school for people like us."

"Xavier's?"

I nod, unsuprised that he has heard of the professor. "Yeah."

He looks sheepish. "I would like to, but I, ah, can't really ride in a car..." My shrug interupts him.

"So fly."

His gaze is disconcerting. "Um - I need someone to unhook the harness for me."

"Sure, 'kay."

He leads us around the back of the building into an alley. He starts to unbutton the coat in the dark. After watching him fumble for several minutes with the first button using limited human eyesight, I sigh and start at the bottom, meeting him still struggling with the second fastener. I push his hands away and finish the job. He shrugs out of it. Without clothing on underneath, I allow myself the brief pleasure of seeing his excellent and developed physique, a pair of black straps the only thing marring my view. Hmm... fuzz-free type, unlike Piotr. I swear, you could have probably made a carpet from _his_ chest hair.

Warren turns around and I nearly scream with delight at the sight that greets me.

Large white feathers, the wings of an angel, are strapped down tightly to his back. With nothing like the Gothic look of Diane, the soft downy feathers strain against their harness. His shoulders are irritated and red where the straps chafe them. I take care of that in no time, and as he stretched the wings out I can see tense shoulder muscles relaxing in relief.

"Doesn't it hurt, having them strapped down like that?"

He turns to face me, the wings tucked neatly back. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

I blink in shock. No choice? Then, remembering my attempts to appear "normal" to this same man not so long ago, I begin to understand. My physical mutations are nothing compared to his, and I still tried to avoid looking in his eyes or disturbing the hair over my ears.

"You have a choice. That was your choice." I vaguely indicate the harness and coat he is holding against his chest.

He tilts his head, his eyes gone dark with thought. "I suppose I did, didn't I." He spreads the wings again, and I can't help but admire them, the soft white feathers cupping the night air as he tilts them this way and that, finally cracking his neck resoundingly. The white feathers brush the alley walls, and he hasn't even fully extended them yet.

"I'll call a cab. You can't really miss it, it's the giant mansion down that road," I point eastward, "just after the turnoff to the highway. You probably want to wait for me at the gates."

He nods, and walks out into the partking lot. Then, with a great updraft of air, he pushes strongly off the ground. His wings snap out and start a down sweep, and then he's gone over the building.

Better go call a cab.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Warren felt stunned. He had come to the club hoping for a brief distraction and some time to think. _::Well, the distraction part worked:: _he thought wryly to himself. Tris was ... so different. And that dance she had done for him...

He was glad for the cool night air rushing past his wings and body as he flushed. He had been to strip clubs, and had seen more than one erotic dance, but Tris had incorperated an element of class and the untouchable. She had flaunted her body, no doubt about it, but it felt more like she was doing it for herself than him. Her grace and balance were unbelievable, and all to some song _he _had never heard before. In fact, he usually changed radio stations at the first hint of that type of song, what he liked to think of as "nada dada" - like the art form, they were briefly passing through the popular culture of the times.

Still. The way she had melded the dance into the song was incredible, even considering she had it coreographed ahead of time. Warren knew a bit about dance (his father, the illustrious and wealthy Warren Worthington II, had insisted on that as part of his education), and she was either a natural or had had intensive training.

And now he was heading off to the famously touted Xavier's School for the Gifted at the invitation of that same hypnotic creature.

Warren caught an updraft of air and managed to glide on it for several minutes, museing on the events of the last hour. He had left his home after his father tried, once again, to force the so-called "cure" upon him. Their argument had been the last straw in an already huge haystack. He told his father that he would be traveling for some time, and not to expect him back for several months. Without a true plan, Warren stopped in the dance club to have a drink and try to collect his thoughts and dreams.

The wind stopped abruptly, and Warren had to beat his wings strongly to stay aloft in the suddenly still air. _:I wonder if they might, just possibly consider taking me. Well, not as a student, but to join the x-men:: _He sighed. _::That would be wonderful, to be part of something besides my father's business. Sometimes I feel like it's devouring me. Still, better not count your chickens 'till they hatch:: _He saw the highway turnoff below him, and then noticed the numerous lights of the mansion beyond it. He started to descend, aiming for the road outside the mansion. He backwinged abruptly just before hitting the hard pavement, allowing him to land softly. He smiled, remembering the number of times he had gained himself sprained ankles, scraped legs, and arms before perfecting that move. Taking off was always easier than landing in his experience. Settling back against a tree just outside the gate, he tucked his wings back and prepared to wait for Tris' taxi.

He felt the first drop of rain just as the taxi arrived. Tris unfolded herself from the backseat, twitching her dark wavy hair back as she reached back inside to get her coat and purse. He admired the view her position allowed him of long slender legs, wondering why she wore baggy jeans clubbing when she obviously had the physique to wear something more attractive. He quickly withdrew his gaze as she turned around, then wrinkled her nose as a raindrop hit her bare shoulder. She shivered convulsively and pulled on the short tight jacket she had been wearing earlier. He walked forward, his wings rustling as he tried to tuck them tighter to his back. His wings took forever to get dry, but he couldn't put on the trenchcoat without his harness. Tris paid the driver, and turned. She grinned at him as she strode forward, and he noticed that she walked toe first. It gave her the appearance of gliding over the rough gravel that formed the driveway up to the mansion twinkling distantly.

She was one of the few people he knew who grinned instead of smiling. "How was your ride?" he inquired politely. To be quite honest, the view of her in a the tight jacket grinning at him made him want to kiss her. He started to lean forward when one of his wings caught on a bush. He was pulled back to the present with a sharp wrench. _::You are mutant with obvious physical manifestations. Don't assume anything. Just because she didn't run screaming for the hills when she caught sight of your wings doesn't mean she wants to have them around::_

For a split second I thought that he was going to kiss me, but then his wing brushed against on of those darn potted things Storm insists on having around and he pulled back with an odd expression flitting across his face. Something like a cross between anger and desperation. I came closer and shivered again as another raindrop hit my cheek. Thank God I don't wear any make-up. Jubes runs screaming for the mansion at the first hint of rain for fear her mascara will run, or something like that. I shiver again and walk over to the gates.

Hitting the intercom button, I shout, "Wolverine, get your butt out of that chair!" Behind me Warren jumps, his wings rustling as he tucks them more firmly against his back. "You don't need to hide them. Nobody cares here." I mention casually. Out of the corner of my eye I see him rub the side of his bare neck .

"Thanks, but I was acually trying to keep them dry. They can be a pain to get dry." At that unfortunate moment, it started to pour continously. Warren sighs theatrically. "Do you happen to have any hair dryers?"

"No, but I'll steal one from Jubes." I promise, just as Logan appears on the screen. "Whad'you want Elfling? And I wasn't sitting down." I roll my eyes. I _hate _that nickname, especially when Wolverine says it in that sweet way he gets when he doesn't think anyone is listening. "Jubes left without me again, it's raining, and I have a wet half-naked man out here with me. Please open the gate Wolvie." Hah, see how he takes that one.

His eyes get sharp. "What are you doing with a half-naked man?" Damn, should have left that part out. After Rogue got married Logan chose me as the one needing the most protection in the mansion and split his original promise to her with me.

Joy.

"Look, Logan, please just open the gate before I die of hypothermia." I shiver theatrically for his benefit. He eyes my goosebumps as they elevate into mountains, and the gates open next to me with a sharp clang. I start running up the driveway with Warren in hot pursuit, reaching the door out of breath and soaked to the skin.

In the entry way I turn to see a miserable and dripping Warren behind me. He extends one wing outside and shakes it under the small alcove, then turns and repeats the process. Small droplets escape into the hall despite his attempts to contain everything outside. Tucking the wet feathers against his bare back, he shivers. His blond hair is plastered at an odd angle and the feathers on his wings are sticking out here and there. The entry hall smells like wet feathers.

I think I'm in love with a drowned sparrow.

He looks at me beseechingly. "Hairdryer?" he asks wistfully, and I can't help but laugh at the site of him dripping on the flagstones, a bedraggled angel.

"Follow me."

I deliberately avoid the hallways where I know Logan will be patroling, and take him up to my room. I moved out of the dorms and into this private room only a few months ago. I try to desperately remember if I left my bed unmade or not as I unlock the door. I don't think I did.

Nope, I made it. Thank goodness, the rest of the room looks it's usual neat self. I turn and indicate Warren should enter. "I'll be right back, I need to go get the hair dryer from Jubes. You can turn on the heater and stand over it." I point helpfully at the thermostat by my bed and bolt from the room. Grabbing Jubilee's hairdryer from her make-up encrusted bathroom, I arrive back to my room slightly out of breathe to see Warren extending his wings over the long heater on the far side of the room. The tips are only a few inches from either wall.

"Here." I toss him the towel I stole from Jube's bathroom. He snatches it out of midair and uses it gratefully to towsle his hair dry. His wings tilt in an attempt to expose more area to the hot air blowing upward. Now my room smells like wet feathers. Oh well, when Logan comes in here wet it smells like a wet dog, and this is infinately better.

Not that I'm complaining mind you. Heck, I would put up with wet elephant to have Warren in my room.

Plugging in the hairdryer next to my bedside table, I start to blow hot air over the top surface of his wings. The primaries are already starting to dry, which oddly enough only increases the slightly cloying feather smell in the air. I peek in under his flight feathers, and note gratefully that the heater seems to be doing an adequite job down there. He has so much surface area I'm beginning to think we should have two dryers. Warren finishes his hair and starts toweling off his chest and arms.

Warren shook back a bit of damp hair and tried to ignore the dark haired girl currently blow drying his wings. He had met people who didn't _seem _to mind his wings, but still avoiding touching them or even looking at them. Tris, on the other hand, seemed fascinated by his unusual appendages. He surriptisiously watched her face, where she had a look of extreme concentration as she delicately fluffed the larger feathers on the ends of his wings.

"Did you know that you have eleven primaries?"

She sounded excited. _::I have eleven whatsits?:: _"I have eleven whats?"

Tris grinned again. "I figured you, of all people, would be an expert on the wing structure of birds." Warren shook his head. "Nothing?" Warren smiled shamefacedly in answer. Tris sighed.

"Sorry, I was a poultry enthusiest before..." She indicated her face, looking him full in the eyes for the first time. He noticed, with a small start of surprise that her blueish-grayish-greenish-brownish eyes (they seemed to be layered in color upon vibrant color, but still clear and bright) had horizontally slitted pupils. They looked something like a cat's eye, but in a human shaped socket they were exotic, different somehow.

Tris looked away and bit her lip, then returned to his wing drying.

"So what're these called then?" He indicated the smaller feathers covering the the front of his wings. Anything to wipe that desolate look off her face.

Tris looked up at him again. She grinned shyly. "You're actually interested? I have to warn you, I can be a little, uh..." She blushed. "Enthusiastic. So I've been told."

"Yeah, 'course I'm interested."

Her smile turned into a full-fledged grin again. "Well, in that case, prepare yourself. These feathers on top of your wing can be divided into two general types. This, here," she indicated the front of his wing, "is the wing bow. These," she pointed the second layer of feathers, "are your wing bar. The flight feathers are in four difference groups. The longest are your primary feathers, and the shorter ones close to your body are secondary feathers. This short feather," she plucked at a shorter white shaft in the middle of his flight feathers he had never noticed before, "is known as the axel feather. It seperates the primaries and secondaries and acts similar to a flap on an airplane. These are my favorites." She smiled fondly at the small feathers at the tip of his wing. "They're known as allulas. They help to steer in midair." She looked suddenly petrified. "Sorry, I warned you, I have a tendancy to wax all lecturey. Old habits die hard."

She smiled sadly. Warren felt poleaxed. He had 'fledged' when he was about twelve to be sure, but after that flying had come naturally to him. He had no idea what all those feathers were called, and up to this point couldn't have cared less. He didn't like his wings, and considered them as a necessary evil. To be quite honest, the main reason he had turned down the so-called 'cure' was because his father pushed it at him so forcefully. He didn't like being coerced into anything.

"So you have eleven primaries, while the average bird has nine or eight. Unusual. And your allulas," she stroked the tips of the feathers in question, "are much longer and slimmer than normal. More graceful. And I think you're as dry as I can get you on this side." She ducked under his wing and walked behind him to start on the other side. Warren had the distict feeling of being in the middle of an airplane maintenance with him as the plane.

"Actually, I think you're about dry on both sides. How do you feel? Did I miss anywhere?"

Warren experimentally flexed his wing, accidentally hitting Triss in the side of her head. Horrified, he instantly started to pull them in to his back. "I'm so sorry, sometimes I forget how long they really are..." Tris was laughing. He stopped mid-sentence in shock. Most people were angry, or frightened. She was _laughing._

"Well, Warren, I have had plenty of things happen to me. Being smacked by an angel's wing hasn't been one of them until now." She smiled up at him, and snagged a swiftly retreating allula. Her face became serious again.

"Warren, don't ever worry about what I will think of your wings. To me, being smacked by your wing is like having somebody bump me accidentally. They're just part of you. They're a _beautiful _part of you that you shouldn't be ashamed of. And I'm going all psycic on you, aren't I? Sorry." She folded the allula against his partially closed wing and gave it a gentle pat before whirling around to unplug the dryer.

"Be right back. I need to return this and check in with Wolverine. Please, make yourself comfortable. I think I have a stool in the closet over there." She indicated a set of dark green doors tucked next to her bed and then dissapeared out the room door.

Warren looked around himself for the first time, wings firmly tucked against his back to avoid knocking anything over. Tris' room was spacious and extremely neat. The bed was covered in intricate quilts he assumed were a pattern until he rounded the mattress on the way to her closet. Pulling out the rolling stool, which luckily didn't have a back and would therefore accomidate his frame, he saw that the quilts were in fact individually pieced. They were in layers on the bed, with four that he could see piled on top of a comforter and flannel sheets. Warren shook his head. There were enough blankets on that bed to cover the entire floor plus some. Hauling the stool behind him, Warren finally settled at her desk. A neat pile of school books (English 1C, Calculus 3B, Chemistry 1B, Art History, Statistics, and Economics) sat next to an open folder. Intrigued, he pulled the folder towards him and scanned the top page. After the quick glance showed him that the paper was in fact the first page of a novel of some sort, he started again at the top and began to read.

"His name is Warren, he's a mutant, and he was half-naked because his mutation includes wings which don't fit under any garment yet made without being strapped down. Do you have any other questions or can I take this up to him?"

Logan actually had his mouth half-open and an admonishing finger already pointed at me when I rounded the corner into the kitchen. But, being Logan, he recovered very quickly from my outburst. I barely had time to get a tray and a tupperware of ravioli out before he found a comeback.

"Where's he goin' to be sleepin'? 'Less," he added hopefully, "you plan on turnin' him back out?"

I laughed quietly at the enthusiasm in his voice and snagged the spagetti sauce and a couple of sodas. "I'm going to put him in Piotr's old room. I saw him tonight, by the way. Piotr, I mean."

Logan's interest instantly switched tracks. "And?" he growled. According to mansion gossip, Xavier had to convince Wolverine to just throw my boyfriend out of the mansion rather than castrating him and sending him back to Russia in a very little box. Gossip doesn't mention whether the little box is supposed to contain Piotr - or his testicles. I never asked.

I shrugged. "Warren told him to mind his own business and took me outside." I can practically see Logan's approval of Warren rocketing up at this news. "You can come up with me if you like, meet him. Just don't stare at his wings, I think he's self-consious."

Wolverine growled again, just for good measure I assume, and followed me out of the kitchen once I popped the now steaming raviolis out of the microwave and split them between two bowls. Going up the stairs I sent a private prayer up to God that Warren makes a good impression on Logan.

Warren put the latest page down, stifling a very un-manly giggle. He couldn't believe these things! What he had thought to be a book or paper was in fact a collection of short stories. A collection of short absolutely _hilarious _stories. Hearing steps outside, he hastily stacked the pages back up and put the cover page on top. It read _Solid Oak - A Collection of True Stories by Tristen Colgate._

_::Tristen Colgate? What happened to Tris?::_

The door opened a second later. Tris and a short, stocky, hairy, little man walked through. Tris was carrying a tray with two bowls on it and what looked like a couple of Sprites. She rolled her eyes, obviously thinking about the man behind her, and placed the tray down on the clean dresser top. The man leaned against the wall next to the door and glared at him.

"Warren, this is Wolverine. Wolverine, this is Warren. Warren, ignore him. He always looks this happy, trust me." Wolverine glared at her, then cracked a smile. He grabbed Tris as she walked by and rubbed the top of her head with his knuckles.

"An' you know jus' how to introduce a man, eh Elfling?"

She squirmed, and finally managed to extract herself after nailing the Wolverine with an elbow in his stomach. Warren winced in compassion. _That _would leave a bruise. However, Wolverine seemed to take it in stride, and watched Tris as she walked back to the dresser with a fond expression on his face. Turning back, that expression turned sour as he looked once again at Warren.

"Want ta talk with you later, flyboy." He walked out, closing the door behind him with a resounding _thud._

"He likes you. Rather a lot." Tris mentioned casually a few minutes later as she ate raviolis on her bed. She sat Indian style, feet drawn up under her, delicately picking through the bowl with her fork. Warren snorted.

"Could have fooled me. How can you tell, for future reference?"

Tris shrugged. "If he didn't like you, he would have either stayed in the room as a 'chaperone'," she indicated quotation marks with one hand, "or thrown you straight out the door. Logan's not much of one for diplomacy." She returned to eating.

Warren took another bite. For re-heated raviolis (which was what Tris told him they were) these were excellent. The tomatoe sauce and salt added a lot - he had been astonished to see Tris pull a bag of salt from her bathroom cabinet for the meal. She explained it away as something she liked to have in a bath every so often, but he got the feeling there was more to it than that.

"Thanks." he finally said.

Tris looked up, a dot of tomato sauce on the end of her nose. She looked cross-eyed at it, then quickly wiped the increminating red off with her napkin. "For what? I'm the one who should be thanking you for saving me from Piotr."

Ignoring her last comment, although he would have loved to follow up on it, he replied, "Thanks for bringing me here, and acting like I'm normal, and feeding me. And dealing with me making your house smell like a flock of wet geese decided to live here. And forgiving me for smacking you in the head." He smiled lop-sidedly. "Just, thanks for everything."

Tris shrugged. "No prob. I'll be putting you in a room a couple of doors down from here tonight. The prof gets back tommorrow from some business trip or other, so he can talk to you then if you want to stick around."

Warren watched her return to her food, tucking an errant strand of hair back into the her ponytail. He hoped she was right about the possibility of staying here. He thought he could find a few reasons to stick around.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Warren hung his coat on the bedpost of the room Tris had shown him to. It had that slightly despairing feel of a room that has been abadoned recently, which eased his conscience somewhat. He had been afraid he was kicking someone out.

The bed was made of a solid steel frame, with a spongy matress and thin sheets. Other than that, the room had little furniture, only a heavily built stool at a desk. Tris' room was only a few doors down from him, and he could hear her door shut as she returned to her room. A silence, then some music turned on. Something by Harry somebody or other. Something his dad had liked.

A pound at the door took his attention away from listening to Tris' music. Opening the door carefully while pinned against the wall, he was surprised to Wolverine enter, his eyes darting around suspiciously before alighting on him. Warren had the feeling that the short man had known all along where he was, but had checked for other intruders before actually verifing his knowledge.

"Tol' you I'd be along flyboy."

Wolverine walked a few steps away from the door and then veered towards the bed. "Figure you need the stool." He indicated the chair in question with a flick of his head, and then sat down much as Tris had settled earlier. The bed creaked in protest. Warren, taking Wolverine's comment for the invitation it was, sat at the desk, turning so he faced Logan.

"You break her heart 'r her head, I'll kill you."

Warren gaped. "What?"

"She's listenin' ta _Cats in the Cradle _flyboy. She only listens to tha' song when she's upset. You're the only thing tha's new 'round here, so you must be the reason."

Warren felt like things might be easier to understand if someone slapped him. This hairy little man was making little sense, although he was obviously talking about Tris. Just then, another song started. This one he recognized easily as _Rocky Mountain High_. Wolverine apparently picked that up as well. "She's upset 'bout somethin'."

Warren turned away from the wall he had faced when the music turned on and looked back at Wolverine on the threadbare sheet. He was glowering at Warren in something that bordered on feral.

"Listen kid, you don' anythin' 'bout Tris 'till you know 'bout where we found her. How I foun' her."

Warren waited.

"Her family kicked 'er out when she was jus' a little thing. Her eyes," he pointed at his own, "were more'n they could handle. She was six when they dumped 'er in foster care."

Warren changed his view of his own home life. At least his father had kept him around.

"She wasn' what the foster care wanted neither. She got juggled from home ta home for the next nine years, 'till she landed in a mutant family. They kept her, were gonna adopt her when a mob 'tacked them. Her mutations kicked in and let her get 'way. Rest 'a her family were killed."

Wolverine stopped and glared at Warren harder than ever before continuing.

"She's guilty 'bout not saving her family, she's guilty 'bout bein' a mutant, she's guilty 'bout anything you tell 'er. You say, 'Tris, the sink downstairs is leakin', she's goin' to assume it's her fault. The only things she's proud of are her dancin' and her writin'. 'An she's damn good at both."

"She ran away from Kentucky, where her family was, and headed to New York. She had heard that there was a school up this way. Piotr an' I found her in the city. 'Member that water main explosion a couple a years ago? That was her, tryin' ta 'scape from some street thugs. 'S how we found her. She wore head to toe clothes all the time, to keep her from touchin' someone and gettin' their feelin's. She was anemic, borderline diabetic, and hardly able to walk from a broken leg that wasn' healin' right. She never would tell me how she got it. "

He exhaled. "Then, we get her back to the mansion and she falls in love with Piotr. She was goin' out with him for almost a year when I started noticin' somethin' wasn' right. She started gettin' injuries in funny places, and never seemed to be able to explain why. I thought maybe Piotr was gettin' a little out 'a hand, a little rowdy, ya know? But I never really thought tha' a a bruise on her arm was worth gettin' between them. I mean, he's strong, and I bruised women on accident 'for. It happens. 'And she never said anything 'bout it, so I just assumed..."

Warren spoke up, interupting Wolverine. "It shouldn't. Shouldn't happen, I mean."

Wolverine looked slighty embarressed. "Maybe you're right. But you aren't made 'a organic metal or plated wit' adamantium. Sometimes you think you're bein' careful when you aren't. 'An what with Rogue getting married an all, I was busy. Then I went away for a few months. I came back to find Tris fresh from the hospital with a broken nose. I knew it had 'a be somethin' more'n an accident then, but she wouldn't tell me anythin'. The next day Piotr slapped Kitty, Shadowcat, fer askin' him to pass the sugar. We kicked him out after that, but he'd already been abusing Tris for a year. Turns out he was hitting her regular, and she just never tol' us."

He sighed. "And I promised to protect her. I didn' do so well the last time, but this time I'm going to make sure she's gettin' treated right. You understan'?"

Warren looked Wolverine straight in the eyes. "I understand perfectly, not that I think she could possibly be interested in me."

Logan barked out a laugh. "What, 'cause of your wings? Listen kid, women like a touch of the odd, 'specially mutant women. Your wings aren't even repulsive on their own, and you certainly aren't bad looking. Tris'll likely have to fight the rest 'a the women in this place fer ya when everyone gets back offa spring break. But, you hear me, if'n you aren't interested in her for whatever insane reason, you tell'er now so's she don't start hopin'. I never saw such a girl for hopin'. She'll hope her family's still alive, she hoped that Piotr would learn to love her and not hit 'er. She's running out 'a hope. She's stronger'n most I've met, but if you push her in the right place an', like that Achille's heel story, she'll crumble. An' I don't want ta be pickin' up the pieces from you breakin' her heart, not so soon after Piotr. Got it?"

Warren nodded. Wolverine bobbed his head stiffly once, and then stalked out the door, slamming it behind him.

_::Well, that was ... interesting, to say the least::_

I toweled my hair dry after a quick shower and turned the CD player off with a kinetic push. Pity I hadn't really been able to control it consiously until a year ago, it would have saved me a lot of trouble out on the streets. My telepathy, empathy, and telekinesis didn't emerge until that horrible night when a couple of drunk mutant-haters cornered my last foster family - no, my family! - coming home from a rare dinner out and shot at us. I only survived because my telekenisis kicked in and diverged a bullet from a point between my eyes to the top of my shoulder. I still carry the scar, just one among others.

Thoughtfully picking up a brush off my neatly kept vanity, I vaguely hear a women's voice in echoing in my head.

"100 brushes a day to make your hair beautiful Tristen. Remember that."

I tried to put a face with the words, but couldn't find a match. I had known so many women. The only faces that aren't a sort of blur are those of the McKinleys. Mark, the 'normal' one a month younger than me with a button nose and green eyes. Mum with her cooking 24/7, and the ability to breath fire. Father coming home from work and taking off his wig to reveal a green scaly head. The baby, with his fierce orange eyes and retractable talons. And me, with slitted pupil and pointed ears.

They kept me for three years, the happiest and sanest three years of my life. Even these past two years at the mansion, what with Piotr, haven't been that happy.

A quiet knock at her door alerted me to the presence of someone just outside my room. I send a quick telepathic scan and come up blank. Must be Logan. He's the only one that can still sneak up on me, what with his natural shielding enhanced by adamantium. Walking over, I open the door and peek out. Wolverine, standing eye to eye with me out in the hallway, looked back seriously.

"You 'kay kid?"

I smile. Logan, with his gruff bad-boy exterior, is really trying to hide a marshmallow heart. I've even seen him surruptisiously go in the nursery at night and sweet-talk whatever mutant baby we have in there.

Of course, as his new 'kid' I must keep all such knowledge to myself. I honestly think the only thing Logan is afraid of is someone hurting me or Rogue. And when he finds out Rogue is pregnant, I can garauntee he'll throw a fit for not being told sooner so he could spend every waking moment growling at Remy for getting her in 'such a delicate condition'. For being so well-aquainted with women, Wolverine has a hard time talking about any of our bodily functions, like periods or pregnancy. He actually pales when I mention tampons.

"I'm fine. Thanks for checking."

He nods, his duty of spoken assurence done. Now he just has to patrol the hallways for another hour, then retire to the security camera room below the mansion where he'll watch the cameras and eat popcorn with Beast and Nightcrawler for another two hours. After that, he might go to bed, depending if he gets a 'feelin' as he calls them, in which case he'll patrol for a while longer before retreating to his room - located directly across from the entrance to the mansion.

I smile to myself. I personally think Wolverine takes this protection thing a little too seriously, but then I wasn't there for Stryker's attack. Still... I actually found a camera in my bedroom soon after Piotr left, and walked out to confront the Fuzzball trio (as I like to call them) only to see a Wolverine mat asleep outside my door. I put my foot down at that point and told him I was perfectly fine without his constant guardianship. He agreed to stop stalking me if I would take personal defense lessons from him, instead of the group lessons I had at that time.

I agreed, he agreed, and I no longer have to worry about accidentally stepping on my surragate father when I want a midnight snack.

Funny. All I've ever had is surragate fathers.

Come to think of it, I could use a snack. That ice cream I saw in the fridge sounds good right about now.

I never could say no to ice cream.

Warren lay down on the bed, resting his chin on a pillow. Since the moment his wings started growing when he was eleven, he had been sleeping on his stomach. It hurt the delicate wings when he lay on his back, and the only time he had been able to sleep on his side was when Micheala was with him. But she had been gone for a year now, so it was back to his stomach. He relaxed, allowing the wings to flatten and cover the entire bed, the tips drooping over the sides and brushing against the floor. For almost three hours he had forgotten he had wings, that he was different. Neither Wolverine or Tris seemed at all upset by them. Wolverine flat out ignored them, his occasional 'flyboy' the only evidence he knew they existed.

A muscle twitch started out in his left wing, and he winced. Before she left him, Micheala had been willing to help him massage out the cramps from strapping his wings down. Now, he had to try and reach the spots himself. It was similar to trying to scratch that one spot in the middle of your back, Warren thought wryly as he rubbed at the joint and flapped the wing gently. _::Always out of reach:: _He drifted off to sleep.

The next morning he woke with a start, realizing his wings were out. Hastily folding them back, Warren turned to face the room. _::Oh:: _For a few seconds he had thought he must be in a motel room, where he made it a habit to sleep with his wings hidden for fear of discovery. Nobody knew about his mutation except his father, mother, and a doctor they had consulted when they first started to sprout. Well, before last night nobody else had known.

Stretching, Warren reached out for his harness. While he couldn't detatch the straps himself, he could put the contraption on. Swinging his trenchcoat over the entire mess, Warren thought gratefully of the rain the night before. At least he didn't have to worry about trying to fit in some tiny little shower. Walking into the bathroom with the toothbrush and toothpaste Tris had given him the night before, he realized he _still _didn't have to worry about fitting in some little shower. The bathroom was almost as large as the bedroom, with a giant shower on the far wall. It looked at though you could wash an entire cow inside the opaque curtains. He walked over to check, sliding the plastic out of his way. _::Maybe even two cows, if they were friendly::_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them, I only made up Tris from my own demented imagination - don't sue me, I'm a poor college student. All songs used belong to their writers /or singers

**Summery: **This chapter was supposed to give a little bit of an inside peek on what Tris is really like, plus her past from her point of view. I figured a bathroom/shower scene ought to will that ticket well, so here you have a detailed report of what a morning with Tris is like. Embrace it; this is how I give character overviews. ;) The explanation about Piotr was needed - why would she stay around in such an abusive relationship? It was too early for her to talk with Warren, and the matter-of-fact explanation she gives Wolverine ties in better with her character than the break-down scene that just begged to be written with Warren. And now that I have totally spoiled the chapter for you, please read on. :D

**Chapter Four**

I have a tendency to wake all at once. None of that yawn, stretch, think-about-staying-in-bed-for-awhile-longer stuff for me. I'm either dead to the world or wide awake. Unfortunately, my 'dead to the world' is most people's semi-conscious; in other words, I'm a very light sleeper. Being a telepath does little to help me out with that problem. Other light sleepers, you have to open the door to wake them. Me, you just have to _think _about opening my door.

So when Warren, one door down, turned on the shower at five a.m. I practically jumped out of bed. You see, the water pipes in the mansion are grouped for every three rooms. So my room, the room next to me, and Piotr's old room all shared a common line, enabling a gurgling noise from Warren's shower to wake me. I reflected, as I rolled out of bed, that that had oddly enough never been a problem for me before. The room between Piotr and me had been vacant as long as I had been around, and Piotr never took a shower in his room - he always used the gym showers after working out. Which was a pity, because the professor had given him the room with a giant bathroom. I'm not much of a girly-girl and even _I _was jealous of that bathroom, so you can imagine what the rest of the, as Remy puts it, 'femmes' felt about the arrangement.

But that is ancient history as of yesterday. Because, if Warren was so kind as to be an unofficial alarm clock, I was going to have a telepathic talk to Xavier about his staying at the mansion. If necessary, I would offer to take him 'under my wing' and show our newest x-man the ropes. That is, if he wanted to be an x-man. I shook my hair down from its usual night-time braid and dug under the bed for my make-up box. It rattled dismally, and when opened revealed that my entire make-up collection consisted of a small tub of herbal lip salve and four colors of eye shadow. I decided on green for today - green would make my mixed palette eyes look green rather than brown or blue or grey or all four together - and would go well with that green tank top of mine.

After searching the orderly dresser for said tank top and finding yesterdays jeans (hey, they were clean right? As long as my nose couldn't pick up any smell, I didn't care what Wolverine's found), I headed for the shower. The scrubbed stall was as bare as the make-up box. A bottle of conditioner and shampoo residing disdainfully next to a white bar of soap were all that graced the white shelf. I switched on the CD player and chose some Simon and Garfunkel off the play list.

_::Hmm, I think the Parsley album will do just fine. But first, a favorite:: _

_A Horse with No Name _blared out of the speakers almost instantly. I turn on the hot water and climb in, wincing at the temperature. Warren was obviously using cold water, because I certainly had enough hot water to boil an egg under the shower head. I rarely spend much time in the shower, and this morning was no exception. I was out before _Patterns _had ended, just in time for _Scarborough Fair. _

_"Are you goin' to Scarborough Fair / Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme / Remember me to one who lives there / She once was a true love of mine..."_

A knock on the door interrupts my off-key singing. "Come in."

"Darlin', you got to stop listenin' to such depressin' music. I can hear it a floor down."

Now, I'm not modest. A bit conservative (prude, I think, was Jubilee's wording) perhaps, but a year on the streets bathing in public hostels or drainpipes will cure anyone of modesty.

That doesn't mean I'm happy to find Wolverine standing in my bathroom doorway while I'm wearing jeans and a bra. Well, at least my bra is good one. Front-clasps are my favorite, easier to put on and worth losing a little support. As for yesterdays jeans...I think I already mentioned I don't care.

What I'm worried about are the still healing bruises on my lower back. From bad injuries such as internal bleeding or broken bones, I heal slightly faster than average. Subcutaneous bleeding on the other hand, will take me much, much longer than average. Piotr hit me three months ago, and his marks are only just now fading to yellow. Wolverine growled behind me.

"I'm fine Logan. They don't hurt at all, they just look bad."

Which is true. The pain disappears in the normal time, just not the marks. Which meant Piotr was usually very careful to leave bruises only in places where they wouldn't be noticeable. He never slapped me - I could hardly hide _that _for two months - and only bruised my arm once when he grabbed too hard accidentally.

Be grateful for the little things in life, one of my foster parents once told me. I tried to live up to that quote until I realized that my little things were being happy someone wasn't hurting me where everyone could see.

Foster care is a bitch. I've heard the happy ending stories, and I almost had one, but I've _lived_ the horror stories. Don't try to tell me that foster care is good unless you were a foster child who lived in an average of three homes per year, on a good year. At least in an orphanage I would have stayed in one place.

Of course Wolverine knows nothing of this. And I intend to keep it that way.

"I ought ta have taken care of him when he first came 'ere."

I start to brush my hair, tugging roughly through the knots. Beast tells me that my hair is hollow. Other than drying fast, I have yet to find rhyme or reason for this facet of my mutation

"Nobody knew what he was like when he first came here, Logan."

He shifts uneasily, and throws me the tank I have hanging on the wall. My bathroom doesn't have a door - not something I ever had to worry about, so I never asked for one. I catch it without turning. I know that Logan will likely have an attack of over-protectiveness if he sees the state of my still purple midsection. Pulling the shirt over my head, I put on my everyday pair of gold hoop earrings and slip a chain and locket over my head. The locket settles naturally between my breasts, and I can finally turn around to face my father-figure in the doorway.

Others might think it odd or perverted that Wolverine feels perfectly free to wander in and out of my rooms at all times, but the truth is I encourage him. If my door is locked, he knows to go away. Otherwise, he's welcome so long as I'm not actually _in _the shower and reasonably covered. Thus the knocking.

"Tris..."

I've turned back to the mirror by now to apply the thinnest layer of eye shadow and pull out a toothbrush and some toothpaste. I'm something of a fanatic when it comes to brushing my teeth regularly.

"Mrph?" Speaking when my mouth is full of stinging white foam is difficult. I settled for an inquisitive nonsense sound.

"Why didn't you tell someone? 'Bout Piotr."

I rinse my mouth. I know the answer; I always did know the answer. I might avoid issues, but that doesn't mean I don't know the answers. Self-deception has never been a strong point with me. I can't keep myself from knowing the truth for very long.

"I didn't figure I deserved anything better. It was worth it, to me, to have the rare cuddle even if he belted me later. Those were some of the main reasons. And I figured that once I gave in and had sex with him, he would stop. I thought maybe that was his way of expressing tension or something. Or I made myself pretend that's what I thought because that seemed the right thing to do."

Wolverine was stunned, I could tell even without telepathic peeking or turning around. But I wasn't prepared for his next query.

"Why didn't you then? Why didn't you 'give in' if you thought he woulda quit hurtin' ya?"

"I didn't think it was worth it."

His expression in the mirror was confused. I smile.

"Look, I never said it was simple. A little voice in my head kept saying, 'This is the best thing that's happened to you in a long time. What if you squealing ruins it? You've dealt with worse. Suck it up.' He really never hurt me badly until that last night. It was really just the odd bruise here and there, and they accumulated, with my slow healing and all." I shrug. "Like I said, until that last night he never really hurt me too bad."

"Why'd he hurt you then, and not before?"

I meet his eyes in the mirror. "I told him I wouldn't sleep with him. And he said that the only reason he was going out with me was to 'get some'. He was tired of having to sleep around waiting for me to make up my mind. I got mad, told him I would break up with him then so he could find himself somebody more willing. So he grabbed me, and when I bit him trying to get away, threw me."

Wolverine growls again. I told the professor the particulars after Piotr left, but all Wolvie knew was that I had been badly bruised.

"He was drunk, and.."

"You don' need to make 'scuses for him any more darlin'."

"Thanks."

Wolverine stands there for a few moments longer, then turns and leaves. I'm not fussed with the fast withdrawal - it's my guardian's way of leaving. No good-byes, just a view of the back of his head.

I got over my broken heart a while ago, about the same time my broken nose healed, before Piotr and I broke up. I did love Piotr at one point, in a superior/inferior fashion. But love for me has never been deeper than my skin. I never felt like I could hold onto anything after my family died, so I never expected anyone to hold on back.

Until now. I feel something for Warren that makes the rest of my pitiful relationships feel shallow. A kinship. Both of us unable to blend. Both of us ashamed of our mutations.

'Sides, he **is **awfully cute.

I think it's about time to have that talk with Xavier. He's always up early.

Warren finished blow-drying his wings and gave them one last pat. The wings looked better groomed than they had in ages, what with the washings last night and this morning and not being strapped down for the past twelve hours. The window outside his room was just starting to pale with sunlight, and he walked over and threw the double doors to a balcony open. The balcony was just large enough for him to take off of he decided after a quick glance. Just in case he needed a fast get away.

_::Warren, old buddy, this is a safe place. You don't have to worry about that any more. Relax::_

He walked out on the little concrete shelf, his wings tucked back to avoid hitting the doorframe. He inhaled the cool morning air outside, pleased to be free of the damp stuffiness inside his room.

"Hey. You sleep okay?"

Tris was out on her balcony one door over from him. Her double doors were thrown as wide as his, and a small chair was currently occupied by a wet Tris with her brush. The dark hair showed red highlights in the morning sun, the wavy strands fighting with each other as a snaggle-toothed comb was ripped brutally through a knot.

"Yeah. Thanks for asking. You?"

She shrugged. "Pretty well."

Tris turned her back, watching the sunrise. The soft light filtered through her dark hair. Warren remembered the unkempt state of his own hair and swiftly ran his fingers down the side of his blond thatch. "You have a comb I could borrow?" he called over to Tris, thinking that if he stayed here he was going to have to send home for his things.

"Yeah, sure. Here."

A black comb floated out of the door behind her and zoomed straight for Warren, stopping directly in front of him.

"Ah, um, thanks."

"No problem. Never told you, I'm a teke too." She turned around on the stool. "Talked to Xavier a few minutes ago. He said you could stay, if you like. Join the team too if Wolverine thinks you're ready."

Warren felt stunned. The still morning air permitted him to hear every word clearly, though she wasn't raising her voice at all.

"Thanks, I would, I mean... it would be great to stay. I hope Wolverine is a little kinder to me than he was last night."

_::Brilliant, Warren. This is practically her father you're talking about::_

Tris looked up from a particularly stubborn knot. Her hair seemed already dry even though they had hardly been talking for three minutes. "Logan paid you a visit? Thought he might." She grinned over at him. "He give you the 'if you hurt my little girl I'll kill you' speech or the 'your days are limited' speech?"

Warren thought back to the night before. "I think it was the little girl one. Although he did pretty well tell me my days are limited as well."

Tris laughed, a true laugh. Her slitted eyes smiled at him. "He must really like you. He only gives the paws off speech to people he doesn't **want** to have to kill. Otherwise he ambushes you and takes care of things without a warning." She wrinkled her nose, then turned her head sideways as if listening to something he couldn't hear. "Professor says breakfast is ready, and to bring you down. I do hope you're not a vegetarian?"

Warren shook his head. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Because Wolverine is cooking today. And that means that eggs are the closest thing you'll get to a vegetable."

When Warren found himself sitting down at a table next to Tris and somebody called Rogue he decided things couldn't really be much better.

Until Tris plopped what looked to be an entire pig in various shapes down on his plate.

He noticed that she only took a single sausage before passing the serving plate to Rogue over his lap. "You on a diet or something?" He hoped not. He had a theory that hot chicks always thought they were fat and fat chicks always thought they were hot. It would be nice to find an exception to the rule.

Rogue on his other side laughed before Tris had a chance to answer. She turned brilliant emerald eyes on him and brushed a streak of white hair out of her face. Her voice answered his question with just a hint of southern accent.

"Tris doesn't much lak meat, so she eats ah small breakfast on Wolverine's cook days an' then raids the pantry later. Normally she eats enough in one meal to feed a small country." She smiled teasingly at the younger x-woman. Just then another man came down the stairs and joined the fast-growing crowd at the table. His long red hair was tied back under a black headband, and his red on black eyes regarded Warren suspiciously.

"Is de angel makin' a move on Remy's chere?"

"Remy, it's so nice to see you - finally. Look, Wolvie made your favorite; spicy sausages. Tris, where'd those go?" Tris, on his right, sighed but obligingly levitated a pan out of the young blonde's hands at the end of the table. The pan, after dodging an attempt to reclaim it, landed in Remy's lap with a slight _clunk_.

"Sugah, are you wearin' that armor at the table again?" Rogue's eyes flamed as her voice turned dangerously soft. Warren looked over the trench coat similar to the one he was currently wearing and wondered what this mutant was hiding under there besides armor.

"No, Gambit promise his chere he no more do dat!" Remy swung his arms wide, accidentally hitting a stunning woman with white hair who had been trying to squeeze between the table and the wall.

"Remy! Oh god, Storm ah am so sorry!"

"Don't worry about it dear. Hello Tris. How is your side?" Tris shrugged, her mouth full of the single sausage

The goddess walked by only to have her seat stolen by what looked like a blue demon who appeared out of nowhere.

Tris leaned over and giggled softly in his ear. "Sorry about the mess. Breakfast here has a tendency to be somewhat.."

What breakfast was Warren never had a chance to find out, because at that moment a miniature snowstorm appeared above them. "Oh, sorry Bobby." Tris snagged the pan out of the gobbling Gambit's hands and telekinetically threw it back to the opposite end of the table. A brown-haired girl next to the blond man took the pan away from him, screeching, "Bobby! Let us get some before you freeze the pan solid!" The blond rolled his eyes and stole a piece of bacon from Storm's plate, who had chosen the seat next to him. The white-haired woman was involved in talking with the blue demon and missed the theft of her food.

Warren brushed a snowflake out of his hair and looked over to see a snowy wet Tris next to him. She shrugged. "Bobby can create ice from the air moisture around him. I forgot to return the sausages." Saying this in a matter-of-fact voice, she turned to the Asian girl on her other side and asked her what she had gotten on her last Danger Room session. They started to roundly abuse someone called Scott about how he made the 'sessions' far too unrealistic to be of any use.

Warren, feeling out of his depth, decided to concentrate on his food. He was doggedly eating his way through the last of his eggs when Wolverine appeared from the kitchen carrying several pieces of what looked to be _very _rare steak stacked on a plate. He hooked a chair with his spare hand and dragged it over to the empty chair by the blue demon, slapping two of the steaks down on a second plate. Sliding the plate in front of the empty seat, he started to cut and eat his own remaining slabs of meat. Warren was just starting to wonder whether that was some sort of x-men custom, feeding the empty chair, when a huge furry blue man with sharp canines in a white lab coat turned the corner into the kitchen. He walked towards the chair and sat down as if he knew it had been reserved for him - which appeared to be true, as Wolverine simply gave a small grunt at his appearance. The demon turned and looked at the furry blue man, as if expecting something.

"Guten tag Hank."

The furry man nodded through a mouthful of steak. Wolverine finished chewing his last piece of bloody meat, and turned as well.

"How's things, Blue?"

"Considering the current state of my exhausting research I would say they are as well as can be expected."

The demon looked at Logan.

"He says things are good."

The demon looked happy, and snuck a piece of toast from Storm's plate, who was now talking to Bobby on her other side. Warren reflected that at that rate those two were stealing, the goddess wouldn't have any food left by the time she actually got around to eating.

Remy had finally gotten ahold of the spicy sausages again, and was eating directly from the slightly frosted pan. Warren turned to see him feeding Rogue a bit of sausage off his fork.

Tris nudged his ribs. "You done?" He nodded and took one last gulp of orange juice; he wasn't sure if it was Rogue's glass or his - at this table it didn't seem to matter anyway. Standing, he saw that though the x-men appeared to be totally involved in their own conversations and food, they all eyed him as he stood. The Asian girl next to Tris actually gaped, and he frowned trying to remember where he had seen her before. She looked very familiar.

Tris pulled on his sleeve and he followed her out of the kitchen and into a small sunny courtyard. She released his sleeve, and then she was off running across the grass and out another gate.

"Warren! Come on."

Warren, unsure of what this was about but willing to listen, trotted after the slim figure in front of him.

Xavier had told me that the first test on Warren would be with Wolverine talking to him and me, to see if we were acceptable as team (I'm the only one without a partner since Piotr left), then we would have a Danger Room session. I figured to get him out of the mansion before Logan finished breakfast and explain the situation. I stopped when we reached the trees on the outskirts of the huge forest surrounding the mansion. "Here, we can stop here until Logan arrives."

He was quick. "My first test?"

I nod and pull myself up on a low branch. My hide-away isn't far from here.

When I first came to the mansion, I built a small shelter in a giant old oak tree. It really isn't much more than a blind built in the naturally flat bole of the tree, but I still go there occasionally.

"Wolverine is going to decide where you will be placed on the team. I'm the only one without a partner right now, but if you want to switch later you can." I answer his question and the strange expression he exhibits with one breath.

"No, I mean, if you want to switch, I mean... I didn't know the x-men had partners. I thought you were just one big team."

I shrug, and reflect absently that I seem to be doing that an awful lot lately. "We **are** one big team, but within the team we divide up. Usually it's male/female partners - Gambit and Rogue, Wolverine and Storm, Shadowcat and Iceman, and Cyclops and Phoenix. That's the senior team, we do the dangerous stuff and missions. The junior team is in charge is routine stuff; picking up new students, the groceries, things like that." I smile so he knows it's a joke. "They have a couple of threesomes. I know Jubilee, she was the one sitting next to me, has a threesome pairing with Multiple and Monet. The only one besides me to be alone is Leech, and that's because he can't work with anyone."

"Why would you split the team up like that?"

"Training purposes mostly. Besides, that way the team essentially has pairs of specially trained personnel. I'm stealth, high places - everyone else has a serious to mild problem with heights, even Storm and Wolverine, although they won't admit it. But I can hear them." I tap the side of my head and carefully watch his expression.

I try not to listen in to everyone at the mansion for courtesy's sake, so right now I'm shielded. I mean, who **wants **to know Scott's fantasies and Kitty's grade problems anyway? That stuff is personal, and I don't want to have all their shit on top of my own. Most people who are here haven't had the best of lives. The one time I opened up around Remy, I almost passed out - his past has been _horrible. _I really don't want to know what it was like to be... well, I just don't want to have that kind of information floating around in my head. I get enough of that when I'm scanning enemies from the Brotherhood.

Warren's reaction to the reminder of my telepathic powers is unusually laid-back, even for another mutant. He doesn't even flinch away from my gaze. "So as your partner, we would train together in what?"

"Well, the height and stealth stuff obviously - can you carry somebody else, or was that just you being a gentleman last night?"

I have the bad habit of being totally and absolutely honest with my thoughts. Consider it a side effect of living with two powerful telepaths.

Subtlety and me - not good bed-fellows.

Warren answers glibly. "I can carry someone so long as they weigh less than me. Over 120 pounds and I can't take off."

He weighs a hundred and twenty pounds? He must have hollow bones or something. Yes, that would make sense. I can hear Wolverine coming up the trail. I almost warn Warren, then decide to watch his reaction.

This ought to be interesting. Round two of Warren and Logan, coming right up.

So there you have it. They have breakfast, Tris explains a bit more about the x-men the way I think they should be run, and Warren is about to have the stuffing scared out of him by Logan. Sorry about the swearing by Tris, but this is how she turned out - I really don't write my characters, they evolve into themselves using me as a choreographer. R&R please.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Again? And I thought I had memory problems (sighs) I own nothing. Nada, Nien, Naught. How many more languages do you want:)

**Summery: **Just a heads up - I'm leaving for a four week backpacking trip in two weeks, and as such will not be updating anything for a while. Sorry, but I do almost have a life after all ;) Don't worry - this is not a Lorm fic, although there may be some of that later. Danger Room session next chapter!

**Chapter Five**

Warren started and flipped around at the tap on his shoulder, fluffing his wings aggresively under the coat. Behind him, Tris snorted.

"That was a pretty cheap shot Wolvie. I hope you weren't trying to scare _me_."

Wolverine walked around him so he was between the two mutants and sat down on the ground. Tris jumped down from her branch and sat beside Logan.

"Sorry about that Warren, but I figured Logan didn't want me to tell you he was coming."

Warren, his heart still pounding, nodded and stood opposite the pair. They were oddly alike, their posture and mannerisms unconsious echoes of each other. But then Tris smiled at him, and broke the similiarity spell. Wolverine would **never **smile at him.

"Well ... flyboy. Wheels tells me I'm ta give ya the once over 'for he lets you on the team. And," he glowered, "He says that either you'll be a partner for Tris if you're 'bove a level three or partnered with sparkler if you're below." He looked as if he was considering the possibility of saying more, but Tris patted the top of his head, which was level with hers. He growled but smiled lopsidely at her.

"I think he gets the idea. After I decides what your level is, you'll have a Danger Room session with your new partner to verify that they work well with you."

Tris stood and walked over to Warren. "After you decide?" He was puzzled. How could she tell his level?

She nodded. "I'm a level four, verging on level five, telepath and telekenetic. My empathy is only a level two, that's why it's touch-empathy only. Professor taught me how to read levels when I first showed at the school. I'm doing you because," she looked embarressed and flicked a sideways glance at Wolverine, "well, to be quite honest, I'm the best we have right now for getting past shields. And you happen to have natural shields built like a rock wall. So, since you know me, Xavier thought it might be easier to get in."

Warren felt suspisious. "And once you 'get in', what do you do?"

Tris half-smiled comfortingly at him. "Well, I find the center of your mutation and see what the limits are. It's a bit like measuring a box to see how much can fit in it, though it's all mental 'stead of physical."

"Once I let you in, can you get back in all the time?"

I thought frantically, then decided on a half-truth. "No, I would have to go through the same process again." The truth is, I can force my way in once I have the 'key' so to speak, although Warren's shields are so dense it would still take me some time. But I'm not about to tell him that.

"Go ahead then." Warren is watching me, his arms crossed, still wearing that coat. I wonder if he'll ever feel comfortable enough to take it off.

"Alright, uh, please close your eyes and lie down." Whoops, got an eyebrow raise for that one.

"My stomach alright?" Oh, right, the wings. He can't lie on his back. Wonder if he can sleep on his side?

"Yeah, that's fine."

Warren flopps down in the dirt on his stomach. As I crouch next to him, I can see his eyes are closed tightly. "I'm just going to sneak around your shields. If it hurts, or anything feels wrong, sit up and shove me away. I'll probably be in enough of a trance-state that I won't notice anything else."

I put my hand down on the back of his neck, where bare skin shows above the coat collar. He tenses, then relaxes. The professor prefers to put his hands around the head, not actually touching, but I've found my touch-empathy can be a sort of catalyst to my telepathy, to the point that touching actually helps. I can calm while I dig, as Wolverine so aptly puts it. Speak of the devil, Logan just sat down next to me.

"Call me back when you're done."

I nod and watch his walk towards the greenhouse bench to sit down. I came out here rather than staying in the mansion because it is easier for me to get a 'pure' picture of Warren's mutation if nobody else is close enouch to mudde my readings. Closing my eyes, I start the laborous process of trying to find a crack in his shield. I feel like the little dutch boy in that dike story, except once I find the leak, I have to try and cram myself through the hole. Meanwhile, Warren is motionless and emotionless under my hand. He doesn't seem afraid, a first for me. Most people seemed to think a mental touch will hurt.

I found it! The smallest of tears in his shields. I wedge myself through, noting 'where' it is. If I need to, I can communicate with him vea that tear through my telepathy, although his answers would be difficult to hear. I find the 'lead' to his mutation, and follow the 'thread' to it's source. Stating telepathy in the physical is hard, because it isn't physical. It's like virtual reality - you might think you are running like mad when really you're just on a treadmill, thinking you're moving away. It's like feeling your way along a pitch-black corridor you walk every day. There isn't anything you can see to steer by, it all goes on instict.

Ah! There it is.

Well. That's interesting.

Warren is a level three mutant, barely, when looking his physical manifestations. His flight abilities are augmented by a special skeletal system, unusual strength, and the ability to survive a very long time without oxygen. But aside from that, Warren had something unusual that boosted him to almost a level four. He had empathy, which was the reason for his strong shielding. He must have formed it when he was very young as a sort of protection from all those outpouring emotions around him. Very young, in fact. The empathy was an old mutation, from when he was about one or two, just old enough to communicate.

_Ouch! _Shit, that **hurt**!

I pull out from Warren's mind with the feeling of having just been slapped. His shields must have pinched me as I withdrew. Taking a deep breath I plunge back in, only to find the tear gone. His shielding has mended, a completely unconcious response to my invasion.

Interesting.

Warren stretched as he stood up, only to feel a breeze down the back of his neck as two hands gently pulled the collar of his coat back up. "Sorry about that. It helps me to concentrate if I'm touching my subject."

"S'no problem."

Tris was standing behind him, Wolverine at her side. The only difference in their heights was caused by Logan's distinctive 'ears' of hair. Tris' eyes glittered at him, their olive green coloring bleeding into the slitted black pupil.

"Well, the news is that you **are **a level three, nearly a level four, because of a recessive mutation of empathy. Not touch, like mine. Yours, in fact, would be very strong if you ever managed to let your shields down. That, however," and she shrugged her shoulders helplessly, "is unlikely to happen because you happen to have a set of very strong, unconsious, and self-healing shields. Unless you let Xavier or me meddle about a bit, which I don't really see a reason for, you won't be able to gain conscious control of them."

Warren felt perplexed. "So what does that mean?"

Wolverine actually opened his mouth in what could have been either a snarl, grimace, or smile. "It means that you are going to be working out with catling in the Danger Room in two hours. Under my direction." Warre decided that the expression had to be a grimace.

Tris cocked her head sideways, looking off at the mansion. After a few seconds, during which Warren shifted uneasily and Logan continued his grimace/smile, she turned back towards them.

"Xavier says he will be staying in Piotr's room. That's the only empty we have besides the basement room, which, to be quite frank," Tris rolled her eyes expressively, "makes **me **almost claustraphobic. Besides, Piotr's room is big enough for you to be comfortable."

Wolverine nudged her with an elbow as he crossed his arms. Rolling her eyes again at Warren, Tris turned her head towards the mutant. "If you do, I'll tell Storm where her gloves went."

Wolverine growled something unintelligable and stomped back towards the mansion. Warren watched him warily for a few moments, then turned back to his new partner. "What was that about?"

Tris raised an eyebrow and smiled. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the tree behind her with an unconscious ease. Warren wondered if that grace was acquired or a natural part of her mutation.

"Wolverine can contact me telepathically if he's touching bare skin. He had a question."

Warren walked the few steps to her side and reclined against the rough bark. "Let me guess. He thought the basement room was a better idea, because...?"

Tris turned her head and smiled. "Actually, he was telling me that he wasn't sure if he could find all the pieces this time when I broke my heart. Which would be bound happen when he killed you." Her answer was flippant, but the olive eyes meeting his own were sincere. She tilted her head again, an unconscious habit that reminded Warren of a bird or a hunting cat, the movement quick and alert.

"You don't mind my eyes, do you? Only Wolvie and Jubes don't jump or look away."

Warren shrugged, at a loss for words. How to explain that to him the pupils were exotic rather than ugly or out of place? He could not imagine her with eyes such as his, as icy blue with round pupils. His attraction to Tris would obviously have to be tempered by her surragate father Logan (or rather, her surragate father's temper) and the recent relationship with abusive Piotr. But he had never been one for hurrying anyway.

"How can I think your eyes are repulsive when I have these?" Warren rustled his wings under the coat, then changed the subject swiftly. The expression in her eyes had become wary, hunted, and he didn't want to scare her off. Whatever he had just said, it must have been the wrong thing.

A flashback of Piotr hit me. He was in one of his rare and treasured tender moments, running a long elegant finger down the side of my neck and whispering into my ear. He had used that same word, repulsive, in denying that my physical mutations discomforted him, although the way that he flicked away from my gaze afterwards negated his soft words. But the way Warren said it, the way he reminded me of his own unatural appearance, was a far cry from those words.

A very far cry.

I must have shown something, because he looked startled, then quickly asked, "What was the comment about gloves then?"

I have to admit, him asking tickles me something fierce. Still, I don't think he would spread it around, not Warren. Those pale blue _normal _eyes couldn't hold betrayal and stay that clear. He wrinkled his brow, and I resist the urge to say something flirtascious. He's just being nice, trying to make me feel better about my mutations. He can't be interested in me, not a gorgeous guy like him.

Oh, he asked me a question.

"Well, this isn't to get out, but I think Logan likes Storm a bit."

Warren threw me a 'well, that was so **not **informative' look, and I hasten to extrapolate a little more on my theory.

"I went into his room to ask him a question a month ago, but he was in the shower so I settled down on the bed. I was just sort of getting comfortable - Logan has this amazingly soft bed - and grabbed a pillow. Out of the pillowcase fell a pair of Storm's gloves."

Warren smiled appreciatively. I never gossip, not even with Jubes, and I have to admit I now feel a little guilty. What if Warren isn't as trustworthy as I thought? I mean this is personal Logan/Tris relationship material.

"How could you tell they were hers? Doesn't that Rogue woman wear gloves too?" His question surprised me. How could I not know they were Storm's? Then I realized that he didn't, couldn't know about Rogue and her powers, or my sense of smell. First things first.

"I have a sensative sense of smell. I could smell her all over them, which is why I imagine Logan had them in the first place. I caught him sneaking one of my bracelets once; he told me he wanted to have something with my scent on it so he could track me if anything happened. I told him that was sweet, but I really did like that bracelet, so couldn't he take a handkerchief or something? to which he answered that gloves, scarves, and often worn bracelets or necklaces were best for carrying scent - something about your hands and neck I guess." Warren looks thoughtful for a moment, then nods.

"Guess that makes sense."

Feeling like I'm lecturing again, I decide to warn him about Rogue. "Rogue, by the way, wears gloves because touching you with her bare skin could kill you. She absorbs life-energy and mutations, so even a few seconds of un-protected contact could make her, oh, sprout wings for a few hours while you sit unconsious in a hospital bed."

Warren looked shocked. "You mean, she was _the _Rogue? The one that could have destroyed New York?"

I snap. I can't help it, Rogue and I are good friends. "She didn't destroy anything. Mags made her do it, and it almost killed her. If Logan hadn't risked his life for her and given her his super-healing, she would be dead right now."

Warren holds his hands out soothingly, palms up. "I didn't ... I mean, I just heard ..."

Now embarressed, I shrug and turn away. "Don't be. I shouldn't have snapped at you, it's just that she always has the sort end of the stick. Can't touch skin to skin for more than a few minutes, even with her husband. At least she has Remy."

"How does he feel about her mutation?"

I turn back. I caught an odd mental undercurrent peeping through his shields for moment. "You would have to ask him, but he seems perfectly fine with it. He's a pretty understanding guy, and smart enough to know what he has with Rogue. He married her after all. She's worth it, you know." That last was almost a question, I have to admit.

"That she is."

Oh shit. Damnit. May God strike me, my big mouth, and my honesty policy with lightening. What the hell did that little comment mean?

Most people, if I'm confused about the meaning of something they say, I can give them a little telepathic check that clears up misunderstanding. Nothing invasive, that was one of the first things Xavier taught me about my telepathy, more a swift reading of their emotions. But trying to give Warren a 'path is like banging your head on a brick wall. Unless you're a goat, it hurts and doesn't do much of anything.

Could he be attracted to Rogue? It isn't impossible, she **is **drop dead gorgeous, not to mention sexy as hell. Him falling for her wouldn't be unusual either. I think almost every young male, attached or not, has had thoughts about Rogue one time or another. But if Warren is, I mean, I couldn't ever hope to compete with her. I'm not even run of the mill pretty. Besides, wasn't I just telling myself how there was no way he couldn't be attracted to me.

Well, this conversation has gone on long enough. I need to get some food.

Warren would never understand the female mind. Not that he neccesarily wanted to - not if it meant becoming female - but it would be nice to understand why those particular three words in that certain order and tone of voice would make Tris react like she was.

Which was to freeze in place. Warren hadn't realized how continually she moved until she stopped. It wasn't irritating, her constant movement, because most of it was tiny little gestures, breathing, blinking, turning her head, or shifting her feet minutely. But in a split second, she was like a statue. She became inanimate. Then, just as quickly, she blinked and started to move again, this time in strides back towards the mansion.

"Come on, I'm going to go get some food. You want anything?"

Warren shook his head but followed her anyway. He had been trying to make a point, tell her that if mutations the magnitude of Rogue's didn't stop her having a relationship, why should Tris'?

_::And perhaps I was hoping she might tell me that my mutations shouldn't matter either in the same breath. Grow up. She probably already has some x-man in the mansion after her::_

So imersed was he in his thinking, he didn't notice that Wolverine was walking beside him until he tried to walk through the mansion doorway and collided painfully with a hairy mass. "Sorry."

"S'no problem. What you done now to get her so riled up?"

Warren looked down at Wolverine. He didn't look terribly dangerous at the moment, _::But you never know:: _he mused to himself.

"I don't know. We were talking about Rogue and Remy, then she suddenly decided she was hungry and started up."

"Oh." Logan appeared to ruminate on that, then added, "Danger Room in twenty minutes. I'll tell Tris. Change into the clothes on your bed.", before slinking off into a hallway that lead towards the kitchen area.

Warren, feeling thoroughly bemused, turned away from the kitchen and started up the staircase that led to his room.

_::What was that about?::_

If you know what was with Wolverine, would you mind telling me? Only the muses haven't let on yet. Will have a sweet scene between Tris and Warren in the next chapter, I promise. Hope you enjoyed, R&R please.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I own a hammock (which includes a sleeping bag, feather comfortor, pillows and quilts), a nightstand, a lamp, some jeans and t-shirts, DVDs, this laptop, LOTS of books, along with the key to my room - but I do not own x-men or anything connected to them. Oh well.

**Summery: **Yes, tight leather IS actually comfortable. However, no matter what anyone tells you, riding a motorcycle in tight leather is about as uncomfortable as you can get. Experience talking here, just take my word for it. For you Jean shippers, I'm sorry, but there will be some Jean bashing ahead. I can't help it, I just happen to hate the woman. If anyone sees any discrepansies with the sentinal, please tell me so I can fix them - I have only read a few of the comics, so the description is mostly off research on the internet. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I truly appreciate that. Heads up - I am departing on a four week backpacking trip day after tommorrow, so don't expect any updates for at least four and half weeks. Until then, enjoy!

**

* * *

Chapter Six**

I was waiting in the Danger Room with Logan wearing my uniform when Warren showed up. My uniform... well, what can I say. It is an embaressingly tight but astonishingly comfortable set of pants and vest made of black leather with steel grey piping and a cat's eye on each shoulder. Tight but broken-in soft soled leather boots complete the outfit. I wasn't that fond of the combination, but most of the team's uniforms were pretty outrageous in comparison. As if to prove my point, Logan stands next to me in bright blue and yellow spandex, his rediculus helmet tucked under an arm. We both turned from the program controllor console, and I have to admit my jaw came very close to dropping.

Not that it's like Warren is in exceptional shape - although, I have to admit, everyone looks a bit flabby next to Wolverine. Rather, it was the pants that fit in all the right places, the loose harness in the shape of an X going across his chest, and the huge white wings that fanned out slightly behind him. Warren looks self-consious at my stare, so I quickly relocate my gaze and look back at the console. Today Logan and I decided to have a sentinal attacking at night in downtown New York.

"Right, you ever used a Danger Room 'fore?"

I turn back to see Warren shake his head. He looks apprehensive.

"Well, then, Tris?..." Logan taps my bare neck, the thought _Explanation? _briefly crossing his mind. I flick my head towards the console with a quick twitch of an invitation and wait until Warren joins me before starting up the program.

" 'Kay, the Danger Room can create holographic representations that we use for training. It imitates anything you can imagine - I even programed it once for a beach paradise with giant attacking sushi rolls." My sidelong glance shows Warren is crossing his arms and rubbing his chin with one hand in an attempt to not laugh. Logan interupts, with what passes for a hilarious joke from him.

"You have no idea what terror is 'til you see Tris knockin' down a sushi roll, then devourin' it alive and kickin'."

I roll my eyes in a typically teen gesture, even though I somehow managed to skip the typical teen years - foster care and strange hormone patterns will do that to you. I need to get back to my explanation, I want Warren to make a good impression on my Wolvester. "The Danger Room can hurt you, and will make the representations solid if you attack them. Logan and I chose a preprogrammed sentinal attack, just to see how you do. Oh, and don't worry about hitting your head on the ceiling, you can't. Some wierd technology the professor got."

Warren nods again and uncrosses his arms. His wings have been tucked loosely behind him, a sign of relaxation or ease. I had just about decided to ask Logan to start the program when the door behind me hissed open again, and I felt the distict presence of Jean closing in.

_I need to add something into the program. Wolverine?_

Jean walks over and takes the console from Logan, deftly editing in unknown commands to the previously simple program and flicking the switch that starts the session. Next thing I know, a sentinal appears from thin air behind Warren.

"Jean!"

I have to admit, no matter how many times I see those things, in the Danger Room or elsewhere, they affect me the same way. I instantly and instinctively go into attack mode. What can I say, defense has never been my perfew. I generally prefer to go directly after the problem in the hopes that it will cease to bother me.

Jubes once told me that when I start to fight I change from one personality to another, almost as if I'm shedding the outer skin of quiet, reserved, dependable Tris to reveal the aggressive and partially insane Path underneath. I have to admit, I feel more at home with Tris than Path; my alter persona has so many conflicting emotions, and never, ever, hesitates to kill. Professor says it's a normal facet of a naturally agressive mutation like mine, Logan's, or even Jean's, to have two seperate personalities that manifest at different times.

Right now folks, Path is in the house.

"Warren, behind you!" I telekinetically fling him up and out of the way of the approaching sentinal, who directs its attention to me. Above my head, Warren has snapped his wings out and is hovering out of reach of the machine, looking unsure.

"Attack the head, distract it!"

Warren nods, then starts to circle our attacker teasingly. His control is a trifle shaky but not so very terrible, and he does at least achieve his goal of distraction. The sentinal attempts to swat at the irritating wings that are barring it's view, and my cue arrives.

Dodging the giant foot coming my way, I latch onto the back of the other ankle and start to climb. By now, the machine has dismissed the feathered flying mutant as unimportant compared to the tenacious clinger on the back of its leg. It tries to reach me, but is unable to bend at an angle that will allow it access. I feel like a leech, gripping with fingers and toes to every imperfection I can find in the smooth metal joints. Sliding myself around to the side of the leg, where a seam allows better climbing, I start to slink my way up. Warren is meanwhile doing a wonderful job of distracting the giant robot from my presence.

This is now my usual method to destroy a sentinal. When I was paired with Piotr, he would always try something a litle more manly and less sneaky - leading to some very authentic bruises from the Danger Room on **me**. Now I just clamber up somewhere safe and start telekentically jarring things loose inside. It usually confuses the 'bot long enough for me to shift a little rubble underneath it, causing a minor earthquake as it falls, where I can then disable the mainframe located in the small head.

Perhaps Warren and I can figure out a better plan later - maybe one with less bodily pain involved - but right now this is a tried and true plan.

Then I saw how Jean had changed the program.

_::Fuck::_

Standing below me, only twenty feet in front of the charging sentinal, stands the baby. My baby brother as he would look today, a stocky little boy barely out of toddlerhood. His golden eyes are raised up to me, his mouth open in a soundless scream. The golden peach fuzz that covered his head has developed into fuzzy little sideburns and long blond ringlets. His tiny talons are fully extended, but his body is so tensed in shock he can't move. But still, it **is **the baby, my little brother Theodore, the pride of my family's eyes.

Path took over what little Tris was left and threw caution to the howling wind. Wolverine and Jean are nowhere in sight - they must have ducked out of the sequence to watch from the tower room.

I jump from my perch and execute a neat tuck and roll, landing next to Theo. Knowing that he is only a hologram, I nevertheless gather him tenderly up in my arms and look back. Warren is still flying up by the sentinal's head, unaware of my sudden change in plans. His white wings glint to my enhanced sight against the starless sky as his executes a backwing manuever. Knowing I should put down the holo and help my partner but unable to stop myself, I look down, mezmorized by the boy cuddled up to me. Then Jean made her mistake.

The golden tear-streaked eyes looked trustingly into my own, and the rosebud mouth showed a small smile before opening and whispering, "Tre." in a high pitched childish warble. I look up and see Jean on the other side of the street, her red hair blowing in the fake wind, watching me.

Warren was terrified. He was only just barely keeping out of the monster's clutches, and he didn't care what Tris said, if this creature got hold of him he was dead meat. Dodging yet another swipe, he panted. He had never flown for such an extended period of time, not to mention so exhaustively. When would Tris finish whatever she was doing down there?

Turning, he saw her stand from the ground next to a little blond boy, who clutched her leg as she set him down. She was ignoring the sentinal, instead looking across at the red-haired woman in jeans and a red shirt across the street.

_::The same one who changed the program. Wonder what she's doing here?::_

Then the world went insane. Tris turned towards him and yelled up, "Watch out, I'm taking it down towards me!" Warren gratefully flew out of reach before realizing what she had said. By then, as he turned around to help her, it was too late.

The sentinal had seen the lone figure standing directly in front of it, and was aiming directly at her slim body. The boy on her leg clutched tighter and screamed. Tris watched, almost casually, then twitched. It was a barely noticable spasming of muscles, but the result was spectacular. The robot stopped, then keeled stiffly over, coming within a few centimeters of landing on the woman standing across the street. Jumping aside, Red glared at Tris before yelling, "Program terminated!"

The holograms melted away revealing the same sparse metal room he had been in before, only this time his head nearly touched the ceiling. Dropping down, Warren folded his wings to his now quickly chilling sweaty back and started towards Tris. Wolverine came into the room before he had a chance to move more than four feet.

"Jean, you selfish bitch!"

The Canadian was growling, his unique hairstyle more unruly than ever, and managing to look positively terrifying in blue and yellow. Warren could practically hear the air scorching between him and the Jean woman. Tris still stood where she had been when the sentinal fell, stroking her leg where the little boy had clutched it. Logan turned towards her, his expression one of severe worry.

"Tris, darlin', you 'kay?"

"Oh thats right, don't even ask why I did it! Just assume that I'm a 'selfish bitch' as usual, is that it Logan?"

Jean looked ready to spit. Logan ignored her entirely, his attention still on the figure of Tris. "Tris, darlin', kid, talk to me."

"Logan!"

Tris was still standing there, her mouth unmoving, but Warren heard the shout clearly. A stiffly upright bald man in a wheelchair had just entered, his legs held immobile by straps, but his hand steady on the control. He paused in the doorway.

"I heard the commotion from the labratory. Jean, why did you decide to conduct this experiement without my or Tris' permission?"

"It was Theodore."

Tris had spoken at last, hand still petting the lower portion of her thigh. "How did you find Theo? Is he alive?" The hope in her voice was heart-breaking.

The man in the wheelchair sighed, then rolled the chair forward a few feet. "No, Tris, Theodore is dead with the rest of your family. Jean tells me that she only told the Danger Room to simulate someone close to you in danger. She had no way of knowing who it would pick from your psyce."

"I know." The hope had dissapeared, to be replaced with anguish.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. I need to leave." The words were automatic, emotionless, yet somehow steely.

"Kid, you sure.." Tris cut her protector off. "I'm fine Logan. I'll be outside if anyone needs me." She turned and left. Warren stood in place dripping and feeling like an abadoned spare tire. Logan turned back to Jean.

"How could ya do tha' t'her!" His accent was becoming more defined in anger. "You **knew **about her family, prob'ly more'n I did, an' you jus' went 'head and did a stupid ass thing like tha'! How could you think tha' it would be a good thin'!" Warren winced at the decibles Wolverine managed to yell from his short stature. Jean, however, didn't move.

"Her phycosis is becoming a problem for the team, you know that Logan. Last mission, she froze at what could have been a critical moment because she saw a man running away. A few months ago she risked her life and Piotr's by diving directly at Mystique to save a young blond hostage, ignoring the dozen others in equal danger. She is unpredictable when she engages in battle as Path, and we need to adress the problem now, before someone is seriously injured. I, for one, think she should be taken off the team until we can deal with the problems."

Warren felt even more out of place. He was new here, and this was personal stuff. He started to edge towards the door. Xavier turned and looked at him, smiling, then frowned suddenly. "Mr. Worthington, I believe?" Warren nodded, then twitched nervously as Logan growled at Jean. The headmaster turned back towards his two staff members.

"That is enough. Jean, while I fully understand your points as well as your standing here as the phycologist and residential doctor, I would appreciate it if you discuss such things with me in the future. Logan, is this true about Tris? Has she become unstable?"

Logan shuffled his feet. "Well, not 'xactly. She jus' isn't as careful as she used't be. Bit more reckless." he growled after a few tense seconds, before sighing in defeat at the expression on Jean's and Xavier's face. "I'll talk wit' her and work somethin' out. She jus' needs some more time."

"I'll talk to her."

Warren was amazed at the words coming out of his mouth. So, apparently, were the other three mutants from their poleaxed expressions. Looking around, he thought quickly. "She would resent Jean, and she's in too much awe of you," he indicated Xavier, "and I'm supposed to be her partner, right?" He looked at Wolverine for backup, hoping for a miracle.

Logan looked thoughtful, rather than the angered mask Warren had expected him to be wearing. "The boy's right, he is better than us. An' he **is **her partner, as of now." The approving glance he then shot Warren's way felt like a warm blanket. Xavier nodded approvingly.

"Well, then, Warren, you can find Path on the left lawn. I ask you to discuss her taking a break from the team for a few weeks, perhaps talk to me for a few hours tommorrow." With these words and a gentle smile, the mutant left. Jean stalked out after him, throwing one last hate-laden look at Logan before closing the door. Wolverine shook his head.

"Tha' woman is a PMS machine, I swear. Well, good luck to you. Y'know where the left lawn is, flyboy?" The name had a hint of respect to it, and the gaze Logan met his eyes with was for once free of sarcasm, anger, or sheer hate. It wasn't exactly friendly, but there was a hint of the possibility.

"Um, yes, Rogue pointed it out to me when she showed me the way down here."

The burly man nodded. "Good."

As Warren walked towards the supine figure under a towering tree at the edge of the left lawn, he wondered how to start the conversation off.

_::So, Tris, the rest of the team reckons you're a dangerous luny. They want you to retire for a few months until you can stop having problems with your split personality::_

"Hey Tris."

He flopped down next to her on his stomach, the cool grass tickling his bare chest. Tris, like him, still wore her uniform. He allowed himself one admiring look. The tight but supple leather pants and cap-sleeve vest were so dark as to make her lightly tanned skin appear pure white in comparison. The vest was zipped up too far to show much of anything, but not so far that there wasn't a chance of something showing. The figure showing under the getup was not voluptuous, nothing like the ample Rogue or Storm, but not exactly lacking either. He waist nipped in before rounding out to long thin legs and small hips. Eying her flat abdomen, Warren mentally bet himself he could almost reach around it with both hands, or at least get them within an inch or so of touching.

"Quit staring at my uniform. Pretty outlandish, aren't they?"

Tris was still partially reclined against the smooth bole of a maple, her eyes closed, but the corners of her mouth curved slightly in an almost smile. Warren came within a hair of telling her that it was hardly the uniform he was watching breathe, but decided that his earlier call of going slow was still the best method. So far as he could tell, there wasn't a single contender in the entire mansion for - what had Xavier called her? - oh yes, Path.

Warren gave himself a mental shake and cast around for a safe subject. He remembered Wolverine's remark of the night before.

"Why Colgate?"

Tris opened one eye at that. "You read my book?" The tone of her voice was neither accusatory or angry, simply resigned.

Warren shrugged. "It was out on the desk, so I flipped through a few pages. You really are quite good, you know. I especially like that one about wax, what was it called?"

She wriggled herself around until she was on her stomach almost nose to nose with him. Warren had the distinct feeling that if he looked just a little down he might get a glimpse down the previously inpenatreble vest, and attempted to distract himself with the meditation of whether the freckle on the tip of her nose best resembled a tomatoe or a potatoe. She stayed still looking into his eyes for a few seconds, then lay her head down on her hands, drawing her legs up a little and looking like nothing more than a huge cat.

"Wax is not your friend. Actually my last name isn't really Colgate. When I lived on the streets, I had this thing for keeping myself clean. I've always been a bit more dirt-free than your average human", she raised an eyebrow, "or mutant, but when you live in a filthy enviroment ... well, lets just say I was almost finatical according to the people's standards I was living with. Bathing once every two days, I mean!" She opened her eyes comically in mock shock. "And then, when I was caught stealing toothpaste, a woman in my group started calling me Colgate. It seemed a good last name to me, it described a little of my personality. You know," and she rolled over onto her back, eyes closed. Warren saw a strand of her hair catch on the zipper of her vest, which was now covering everything again. "names used to describe people. If you were a baker, your last name was Baker. A blacksmiths last name was Smith. Then the title became a genetic tag, and bang, here we are with last names that have nothing to do with us, and everything to do with your great-great-great grandfathers job."

The lawn grass flattened slightly under the sudden breeze that sprang up in the following silence.

"And the Tristen?"

Tris opened one eye again, the pupil so thin as to be barely noticable in the bright daylight. "Just my name. I don't know why, I mean," she reached out and idly flicked an ant off his arm, "Tristen is a guy's name, but that didn't stop them."

"So. Tristen Colgate, level four telepath and telekenetic, level two touch empath, x-woman, may I introduce myself as your new partner?"

Tris flipped back over, a lithe movement which seemed to involve only her hips while the rest of her body naturally followed. "So Logan passed you?" At his answering nod, she squealed, "That's great! I mean," she tilted her head in the movement peculiar to her, "if you want to be my partner after that little display in there."

Warren shrugged. "I dunno, I figure you have a reason. But, well, Xavier thought you might take a little time off from missions, just train for a while until you are, uh,.."

"More balanced."

Warren looked askence at her deft removal of the words he had been thinking. "Are you peeking?" He tapped the side of his head. The idea of her reading his thoughts wasn't exactly repugnant, just disconcerting.

_::I certainly have reacted well to having telepaths everywhere suddenly. I suppose it's because everyone else here seems to just take it in stride::_

"No, your shields are too strong for that. I have to be touching you, and before long, you'll have to let me in. Your shielding is unaturally strong, stronger than anybody here."

Warren shrugged. "Thanks, I guess. Just born with it, like these, I suppose." He fluttered his right wing with a small muscle spasm.

Tris nodded, her eyes hooded suddenly. "Suppose so."

They shared another companiable silence before she stretched again. "I'm a bit sensative to heat. You mind providing some shade?" Warren noticed that she was, indeed, now in full sun, as was he. "Shade?" he asked blankly, "We could just move into the trees."

"When you have built-in fans? Be a gentleman and give me a wing."

Warren obligingly and uncertainly spread a wing out from his back, where they had priorly been tightly furled.

"Farther... just there." Tris uncerimoniously slid over to his side and settled down, nudging his side with a pointy elbow. "Budge over there." Warren moved over a few feet into the shade of a large tree of some kind, Tris following him. "That's nice. Thank you." At which point she settled down on the lawn, face burrowed into her crossed arms. "Sorry if I'm a little bossy. You just have to argue with me if you don't want to do something, and I'll back off." She was mumbling into her arms. "S'okay." he returned, watching the top of her dark head.

Warren stayed still, thinking. She hadn't exactly given him an answer to his comment about taking some time off, but she didn't react badly either. Perhaps she wouldn't be adverse to the idea. He shifted uncomfortably. Keeping his wing up like this was starting to give him a cramp in his shoulder, especially after the long work-out earlier. Carefully, he lowered the wing down a little.

"You can lay it on top of me if that's more comfortable for you." Her spoken sentance, after such a long motionless silence, startled him. She lifted her head. "Ah, my wings, make other calustrophobic, so I've been told." He managed to stutter a reply to her surprising statement. Tris shrugged, a rolling motion. "I don't get claustrophobic. Don't worry about it, if it bothers me, I'll move. You aren't exactly forcing me to stay here." Warren had to nod assent to her argument, and carefully lowered the white feathers until they rested on her back, spreading the other wing as well. Her head just emerged from the top of his ... what was it? His wing bow, that was it. Then, to his amazement, she snuggled down under the wing until all that showed was a few tufts of unruly hair. A deep sigh escaped through his feathers.

"I like it."

With that, all Warren felt was her gentle breathing on the underside of his wing, Apparently she had flipped herself back over and fallen back asleep in the same instant. He lowered his head onto his arms in mimicry of her earlier position and peeked through a the gap between his wing joint and the grass. He eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, one of his feathers tickling the side of her neck.

Only once before had he seen a sleeping woman under his wing. In one of his earlier, serious relationships, he had curled a wing about his girlfriend while she slept. She woke almost instantly, leaving the house in a huff. That he had 'dared to **touch **her with it!' was the end of their dating.

_::Now look at me. I never would have thought that at the age of twenty-two, three years later, I would have a woman willingly enter under there. Lovers, I've never lacked for. But understanding...::_

_::That, I've never found::_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I'm broke and under the age of sixty. How could I possibly own any part of this amazing comic? Neither am I affiliated with the company that makes Pam.

**Summery: **More eating, more Tris, and more Warren. How much better could it get? I wrote this, looked it over, and realized that Tris looks even more unbalanced than usual, but I promise it's just the Danger Room session with Theo that has her so worked up. I apologize for the food obsession going on in this chapter. However, my explanation for it comes from an article I read about people who had suffered starvation levels at some point in their lives, and how for years afterwards they will often overeat or even go so far as to hoard food away - just in case. I thought that adding Tris' consideration of food as so important might emphasize the fact that she lived on the street with uncertain and meager food sources. So, just a little background info. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I live for and love the input. Bit more humor than usual in this one.

**Chapter Seven**

Warren awoke with a start to realize that his wing was moving. Moving - without his tacit agreement. Startled into immobility, he had a mere second to contemplate possibilities before a rumpled dark head appeared next to his, wrinkling a slightly crooked nose. He relaxed, remembering that Tris had decided to use him as a sunshade. He must have fallen asleep as well. In his drowsy state, he remembered a small discrepancy in his teammate's story, and blurted out a question.

"I thought you were afraid of heights."

Tristen blinked at him, looking uncannily like a giant cat just picked up from a nap in the sun. She seemed to be at a loss as to what he was asking. Slightly more awake, Warren rephrased the question.

"At the club, when I asked if you wanted a ride home, you said you were afraid of heights."

Dawning realization sparkled in her wide eyes. "Oh. Oh, yes. Well, that's because I can be, if it's really high. It's just, well, Path isn't. Path isn't really afraid of anything, I don't think." Warren narrowed his eyes in an attempt to make sense of that sentence. Just then, a strange expression flicked over his companion's mobile face, and she scooted out and away from his body, though still remaining partially covered by the downy wing. She explained her sentence quietly in response to Warren's puzzled expression, gazing away from him and out over the dim lawns.

"I call my more aggressive side Path. You see, there is dependable Tristen Colgate, straight A student, and dancing authoress," she fluttered long black lashes in pretend demureness, then grinned back at Warren's smile, "and then there is the highly dangerous and emotional Path that generally goes along with prolonged or powerful use of my mutations. Path is a bit like Logan's Wolverine and Jean's..." She trailed off, still looking out over the lawn. Turning back to him with a swift movement that looked nearly painful it was so fast, Tris tilted her head inquisitively.

"You were telling me something about me needing to take time off before. Was that Jean or actually the Professor speaking?"

Warren ducked his head slightly, finding it hard to take the piercing gaze of Tris. She instantly looked away again, her ears pink and a curious hardness about her mouth. She unconsciously straightened her shoulders, squaring herself as though about to take a blow. "Which one?"

"Xavier said it, but Jean, she's the red-haired one?" At her answering stiff nod, he continued, "But Jean suggested it. Much to Wolverine's, uh,"

"Anger, dismay, and shame."

Warren stared at her. How could she know so perfectly what had happened? "Well, yes, actually. But how..?"

"I'm a watcher. Always have been. I stand on the outskirts and look at everyone else. Even when somebody else invites me in, I still stay on the edges from habit. So when you say that Wolverine was something, I know from experience that his first emotion is nearly always anger, then either happiness or dismay, then pride or shame. After that he has others for special occasions, but I figured in this case he would go the anger, dismay, shame route, since I already saw the anger section."

"You make it sound like an addition problem."

"It is."

Silence gripped them again, an uncomfortable silence. Warren wondered if he should withdraw his wing, or if that was the wrong thing to do. His instincts said that the woman next to him needed something, but he had yet to figure out just what it was. He settled for reaching out and touching the back of her hand lightly. Tris flinched almost imperceptibly, but left her hand where it was. Emboldened, he remembered how she had been comforted by his hand the night before and rested his palm on the back of her lax wrist, curling his fingers around the small circumference. She looked at him, stony, then suddenly smiled and giggled. It was like the sun reappearing over the darkening lawn.

"Well, look at me, upset because I'm off the team for a while. Why, I might actually be able to get something done like writing for a change. And it will give us time to get you in shape. Eh, it's for the best, as most things are, and don't let the door hit you on the way out, as one of my foster fathers once told me. Come on, we might miss dinner." She stood gracefully, seeming to slide from under the wing to an upright position in one languid movement. Reaching down, she hauled the protesting Warren up as well.

"Remy's and Rogue's turn to cook, which means gumbo, asparagus, artichokes, and likely some of the best ice cream you will ever taste. Courtesy of an old friend of Remy's who owns some little sorbet shop, and sends up a few tubs every month."

Warren laughed, partially from happiness and partially from relief at the sudden change in attitude and atmosphere. "Do you do anything but eat? What are you, pregnant or something?" A raised eyebrow answered him, followed by a fast disappearing view of a long dark braid falling from the formerly severe bun.

xXx 

I trotted around the corner, thinking fast. What on earth was I thinking? I do occasionally get in a depressed mood, I have to admit, but generally I try to limit them to sometime around three or four in the morning when nobody else is around. Why I should decide to put poor Warren through one was beyond me. Maybe it was the sudden shock of waking up next to a gorgeous guy on the school lawn, two hours after a Danger Room session where I lost complete control of my alter personality. At least I can revert back to Tris with little difficulty, unlike Logan with the Wolverine. It was just, seeing Theo like that, well...

If the human mind is not for mere mortals to decipher, then how on earth am I to figure out a partial-human mind, much less emotional motives? Still musing, I run slap-bang into Wolverine. Looking up, I slide a mask of a grin onto my reluctant face muscles.

"Well, think of the hairy devil. Hey Wolvester. What's for dinner?" As if to answer my question, a delicious aroma floats out of the open door behind him. I inhale eagerly. "My favorite. Asparagus." I start to bypass my mentor when he sidesteps, blocking the entrance again with his formidable horizontal if not terribly impressive vertical bulk. "Did Warren talk to you?" The growled question brings a true smile to my face.

"He did. I'll be taking a few weeks off, training my partner, writing stories and poetry, listening to music, getting terribly bored, and dancing circles around a confused Jubes. Oh," I add, to his partially open mouth that appears ready to retort, "And eating as much ice cream and red meat and as little greenery as possible to get in terrible shape so that you can have the fun of whipping me back into harness after the umpteen psychological tests Jean will be inflicting on me. Gotta go." I feel much better, and the sight of Logan's wry but understanding smile is enough to give my faltering spirits the last little jump start they needed. Sarcasm is one of the few things that really helps me to get out of the dumps, a trait that only Logan understands and shares with me. As such, he is the only one I can be sarcastic to without offense. I swagger my way into the kitchen in a nearly normal mood.

I hear Warren and Wolverine talking behind me, and tip two chairs against the table, a sign of their occupation to the rest of the mansion. Exiting, Remy waylays me with a request for telekinetically transporting place settings from the kitchen to the long oaken board. Warren emerges into the room a little after me, wings tucked firmly back. He stands in the doorway, obviously unsure of what to do. Sliding the last plate and condiment into the correct place and verifying that yes, the forks are on the opposite side as the spoons and the knives, I turn back to him.

"I'm gonna go get changed for dinner. Uniforms are not precisely accepted apparel around here outside of missions and workouts." Breezing past a red faced Rogue I manage to give Warren the slightest of telekinetic nudges out the door. No use leaving him here where he might fall even further under the southern beauty's spell. He responds to my enthusiastic chivying with a longing look towards the kitchen, and then follows me up the stairs.

"Hey, Tris, hold up." Stopping, I wait for Warren to catch up with me. He winces almost imperceptibly before stopping. Instantly, I feel my rusty female instincts kicking in. "What's wrong?" He shakes his head emphatically, then tries to slide down the hallway past me. However, Tris is not to be cast aside so easily. And recalling the long session before our impromptu nap, I think I can deduce the answer easily enough.

"Muscle cramps?"

Warren turns back and nods, grimacing.

"Bad ones?"

He nods again, looking curious. I contemplate swiftly what my options might be. "Right. Um, lets see. You go take a nice long hot shower, and I'll borrow some clothes from Bobster for you. I've got some stuff that helps with cramps and such." Nodding again, Warren disappears into his room. Mentally rubbing my hands at the opportunity to get back a little from that prankster of a mutant and try out my newest batch of numbing salve, I set off to gather the required ingredients, take a shower of my own, and change out of this leather.

The life of a mutant is never dull.

wWw 

Warren had just about decided that those noises out in his room _had _to be his imagination when a voice filtered through the shower curtain.

"I've got some jeans from Bobby, and managed to pry a vest from Remy - you'll have to thank Rogue later for that piece of luck. I figured you could use your own, ah, underwear again, at least for today. I'll wait out in the bedroom. The clothes are on the back of the door." A very quiet _click _told him that Tris had vacated the bathroom. Mentally berating himself for stupidly not realizing that someone like Tris was very unlikely to be modest Warren climbed out of the stall after a swift look around to verify that she really had left. After all, she had lived on the streets Wolverine said. Toweling the last moisture from his hair, he set out to dry off the large wings yet again. He couldn't remember ever drying them twice in one day, much less three times in two days. Several minutes later he managed to emerge from the humid room, a cloud of steam following him out.

Tris was curled comfortably in a hammock chair he had managed to overlook the day before, a small basket affair that looked as though it had been made for her. Remembering that this was the former residence of the erstwhile x-man Piotr, Warren admitted privately that the piece of netting was very likely designed specifically for her. After all, who else would be comfortable curled up in a tiny ball hanging four feet off the ground? How did she even get up there? Looking up from her lap at his arrival, his teammate let slip a small book as she jumped lightly down, answering his question. The white walls looked clean to the point of sterility when compared to the vibrant turquoise eyes and shirt of his new team ... mate ...

_Wait a minute, doesn't she have green eyes? Or were they grey?_

"Well, you look better. How are the cramps?"

Warren winced in answer. While the hot water had certainly helped, it hadn't fully alleviated the results of his previous workout. Tris was instantly at his side. "Here, lie down on your stomach. I brought along some of my salve to rub on." Before he could resist, Warren found himself flat out on the cushy bed with Tris kneeling above his lower back. "Hmmmm. Your feathers do make it a little more difficult... there." She had pressed directly in the middle of his sorest spot with a finger. Warren winced, only to have the pain miraculously disappear. He wiggled experimentally, trying to find the extent of the blessed numbness now spread by Tris' gentle hands in a circular motion. A light smack on his shoulder reminded him who was in charge as Tris continued to rub her salve carefully into every nook and cranny not occupied by feathers on his back. Able to fully relax for the first time in several hours, Warren loosely drowsed against the soft pillows until a bare knee came his way. He realized that the woman next to him was wearing a skirt of sorts similar to a sarong. A long thin scar wrapped entirely around the leg below her joint, with a blurry tattooed shape palely blue against the white skin.

"What happened?" He reached out to start to trace the scar when the knee withdrew swiftly under the cover of her deep blue skirt. The hands on his back stopped, and the part of Warren that wanted very badly to fall asleep yelled in rebellion. He swatted the yells away and looked over his shoulder to see Tris watching him with wide eyes. Her pupils were nearly round in the darkening room, and Warren wondered how long he had been sleeping, and whether dinner was already over. Maybe Tris could dig up some raviolis again.

"Hank and Jean did surgery on my leg when I first got here. It was broken, then healed wrong, so they had to rebreak it and do a little reconstruction."

"How'd you break it?"

Tris froze again, in that motionless statuette of before then returned to massaging his back, this time in a distracted fashion. Her reply was garbled by the pillow in his right ear, but sounded something like, "I fell off a drainpipe."

"What?"

"I said, I fell off a drainpipe. I was trying to get inside an apartment, and slipped while climbing back down." Warren started to turn, then had his next question answered for him in an exasperated tone of voice. "I was trying to steal something from the house, 'kay? I was hungry and the gang I belonged to finally had enough of supporting me. I wouldn't have fallen off, but I hadn't eaten for a few days and my balance was off. I have to eat pretty often, or I get light-headed. Bad timing on my stomach's part, and _crack._" The light tone had returned to her voice, making the accident sound like a joke. Warren, still curious, decided to risk one more question. After all, he was her partner now. He would certainly answer any questions she had.

"How far was it?"

"Nine stories, an apartment building."

"_Nine stories?_" Warren repeated her first words incredulously. Nobody could fall that far and just break their leg, no matter how badly! Tris shrugged, a rolling motion that started with her head and ended in a slight shimmy of the hips. "You know how they say cats land on their feet? Well, I just twisted around as I fell, and landed on all fours. But the left leg, she didna land so goot." The mangled mix of Scottish and German accent made Warren twist his mouth in amusement. Just then a bell somewhere below them rang. Tris slid off the bed, beckoning for Warren to do the same. Leading him out of the room and down the stairs, she continued chattering light remarks on meals.

"Dinner bell is the only meal bell we really ring. We don't actually usually cook, it's just that our cook and her niece are off for a few weeks. Something about a sister in Florida, I don't know. But, FYI, so you don't starve if I'm not around, breakfast is seven to nine thirty, lunch is whenever and whatever, and dinner is generally dependant on the person or persons cooking it. And don't, I must repeat, don't eat anything in the cupboard above the frig or drink any alcohol you might find lying around. The first is Jean's diet stuff, the second is bound to be Logan's. And I would suggest you stay away from the Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream too."

Warren, used to living with just his father and a houseful of servants, felt somewhat surprised at the list of do's and don'ts. "Why not the ice cream?"

At the foot of the stairs, Tris stopped and smiled up at him, baring her teeth in mock aggression. "Because that happens to be my favorite flavor. Right Bobby?" The blond from breakfast had appeared around the corner, holding an ice-encrusted glass of water. He raised an eyebrow at Tris and turned towards Warren, who had joined the group at the banister. "Check this out." He displayed a small circular cut on the back of his hand. "Just look at that! Rogue smacked me with a spatula when I tried to tell her the soup was too hot. Bled everywhere. See you lovebirds at dinner." He raised the opposite eyebrow at Warren's confusion and gave him a conspiretal smile. "In this place, partners always end as couples bud."

"What was that?"

Wolverine was coming towards them, a purposeful manner in his walk. Bobby scampered away with an agility unlooked for in his lanky frame while Logan advanced, giving Warren a glare that the winged mutant felt sure must be taking the paint off the wall behind his head. "Hey, Tris. That little kid, the fuzzy one, he's loo.." The rest of his sentence was cut off by the arrival of a small furry purple toddler with two untied shoes. "Tris, Tris, look what I found!" He proudly displayed a very dead borer beetle for the adult's inspection, then ran back down the corridor screaming for someone named Kurt. Tris yelled after him, "Cool!", and laughing continued down the corridor. Warren followed her amazed at the change from earlier, her switch from depressed and angry to joyful and joking. The random events of the past days weren't making him feel any too balanced either. Invited to live at the mansion, become an x-man, partnered with this utterly different female, threatened by a hairy short guy, and to top it all off, furry purple kids were coming out of the woodwork with beetles.

xXx 

I didn't have a chance to say anything else to Warren before Rogue and Kitty swept him off to the kitchen for help in carrying food out. Wolverine was still sticking to me with a tenacity unusual for even him.

"Hey, Logan, do I have to get the Pam out or what?"

He snorted at my attempt at levity and snagged a chair next to me, sitting down and staring at the empty plate with a distracted expression. "You sure you're okay 'bout time off?" It was my turn to snort. "Logan, you know me. I'm about as unfickle a female as you will find in this estrogen-loaded mansion. I'm really fine about the whole thing. I would have to take time off before long anyway. To train Warren, that is. Oh, hi Dr. McCoy."

"Hello Tristen."

I love the furry blue doctor. Listening to him is like reading an encyclopedia. He's so knowledgeable about everything, you never know if a conversation will lead to a discussion of the merits of carpeting or the circulatory system of a frog. He and I share something in common - a general lack of curiosity about people around us. I like to learn things, but I don't feel the ever present severe parch that Jubes seems to feel for gossip. Little kids love me, friends gush over me, and the rest of the world finds me easy to overlook in the scheme of life.

Looking around the table, waiting for Warren, I have a moment to contemplate everyone around me. Kitty there, she's looking at Bobby with that you're-so-dumb-but-I-love-you-anyway expression. Logan is watching Storm circumstantly, pretending to talk to Hank. Kurt comes in the room behind me, and I pick up a few surface thoughts. Funny thing about Kurt, he's always so easy to read, even when I'm shielded. Remy is talking to Rogue, and, gasp, he's smiling and putting one hand on her still flat stomach. She giggles, but a sad look flits over the green eyes as her husband turns away to talk with Nightcrawler about his latest batch of shrimp something or the other. I can hear her wondering if her unborn child will have her mutation, if she will be able to touch and cradle her firstborn. I shiver carefully, putting my shields back up and feeling cut out even as I sit in the middle of a chattering crowd.

I always blamed it on my lack of a real home, but now I wonder if perhaps my solitary nature is purely me. Maybe I choose to believe that life is black and white and simple because I don't want it to be more complicated. My sense of always needing to get ahead just for survival's sake, my moods of severe depression and lighthearted joking, are they the result of self-reliance on the streets or the psychosis that Jean seems to think they are? And maybe I'm working myself down in the dumps again. I flick a finger against the table lightly and realize that these introspective moments and public depressions seem to rotate around Warren's arrival. Although, to be fair, he couldn't have anticipated the situation with Jean and Theo, or Piotr's reappearance. I shiver again at the memory, and hope that I have seen the last of my erstwhile boyfriend. Then the food arrives and I perk up. Food always does that to me, and before long I'm my usual happy self. Until The Subject comes up, yet again.

"Tristen, you really ought to consider my offer."

The professor is watching me sweetly from his place at the head of the table. Beside me I hear Wolverine shift uncomfortably and across the table Kitty stifles a groan into her soup spoon, resulting in a gurgling noise. I shake my head.

"Thanks, but I'm really not cut out for teaching. I just don't have the patience."

He nods gently, and turns to answer some question from Aurora sitting next to him. Logan nudges me with an elbow gently in the side, then returns to eating. I turn to laugh with Jubilee on my left, abruptly realizing it's the back of Warren's head instead. Jubes has managed to capture him in a flirtatious discussion of the Danger Room. However, next to her, I feel Jean giving Jubes the slightest of telepathic nudges, and catch the edge of a conversation.

_::Jubilee, not now::_

Jubes however, pays no attention. I shrug, my expectations fulfilled. I've never been the jealous type, and there's nothing to be jealous of in this case. Warren is good-looking, and new, it was bound to happen eventually. Being partners doesn't mean ownership - learned my lesson on that from Piotr.

Besides, this batch of asparagus is exceptional.

All right, thanks to everyone who has been waiting for this chapter; I got back earlier than I thought I would and whipped it out. I'm still searching for a beta, so if anyone is up for the job I would really appreciate an email at 


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I have no part in the creation or ownership of x-men, which are in fact copyrighted by Marvel and Stan Lee. There, I did it right for once! I also have absolutely no ownership of any other objects or movies mentioned.

**Summery: **This takes place the morning after chapter seven. The relationship is speeding up (yes!) but don't expect calm waters in the future (I hate my Muses). This chapter is based, loosely I admit, on a relationship I had the opportunity to observe, and some scenes in this chappie are verbatim. So this is thanks to them, Nikki, Joe, and 'Manda. As for the _Titanic _scene (winces) um, that was actually something I did. Leonardo fans, forgive me! Slight mention of self-mutilation, necessary for the plot I promise. In reward for getting past it we'll have a few fluffy moments. Thanks for the reviews everyone, loved them all! Little longer than usual.

**Chapter Eight**

"You ready?"

Warren felt exhausted. He had just been put though a rigorous routine that required him to lift various weights so that Wolverine could ascertain his training level. And here was Tris, standing in shorts and a tank, her dark hair in a bun, looking as rested as if she had just stepped out of her bed. He would have thought so, had she not been on the other side of the room from him doing chin-ups, push-ups, curls, and every kind of unpleasant exercise imaginable. And now she wanted him to go **running?!!**

"Uh, Tris, I mean..."

Leaning in close, one eyebrow raised, she cupped her hand around the side of her mouth and whispered. "If we don't get out, Logan will have you running on the treadmill where he can keep an eye on you."

Warren hastily grabbed his bag from the bench beside the door and hurried out. Anything to escape away from the exercise manic gym teacher. The slightly musty air of the exercise room was replaced by a fresh draft from the ajar front door. An overcast morning sky muted all the colors in the mansion, except, Warren mused as Tris caught up with him, the bright unwavering light behind her now emerald green eyes. While they could rival neither the sheer brilliance of Rogue's eyes or the fiery depths of Jean's, there was something steady and unbending behind those pupils that the other women lacked a diamond-bright and somehow steel-strong vulnerability. He recalled again the color of her eyes the day before, and creased his forehead. Thoughtful, he didn't notice his immobile state until Tris tapped him lightly on the tall wing joint nearest her.

"Warren, you're blocking the hallway."

He still stood for a moment, then turned and faced the shorter female behind him. "Tris, do your eyes change color?"

She ducked her head until all he saw was the top of a ruffled ponytail before looking up again. "In a manner of speaking. It's more like they mimic the color of what I'm wearing, although I've been told they also change with exceptionally violent emotions." She shrugged, looking amused. "But then again, when I'm especially happy or angry, I don't go look in a mirror to see the color of my eyes."

"Oh." Warren, holding the door open, looked outside again as a gust of wind made his feathers rustle. The long lawns and ivy-covered walls and gates of the mansion looked oddly deserted in the quiet morning. The sun had long since peeked over the horizon, but was unable to break through the thick cloud cover, creating a murky and surreal effect. He looked around, expecting someone to walk around the corner or yell from an open window, but the formerly stuffed school appeared deserted.

"Tris, where is everyone?"

Emerging behind him, Tris blinked as her pupils contracted against the slightly lighter light. "Oh, off to the city mostly. The team splits up on Saturday, does their own thing. The junior team shops with friends, Scott and Jean go out shopping for the food and catch a movie, Dr. McCoy's off to Washington for a few weeks, Xavier's in his study, and all the kids are gone for spring break. Besides, it's only nine. Remy's a late riser, and Rogue doesn't feel very well." She stopped, an amused look flitting across her face. "That was probably more than you wanted to know. I feel like a feather lecture repeat was just barely avoided."

Filing her last self-deprecating remark away for later examination, Warren glanced around again. "What about the purple kid?"

Tris grinned. "What, little Warren? He was just here for the afternoon while his parents talked to Xavier."

Warren, taking a sip from his water bottle, choked. Still spluttering, he screwed the cap on before asking, "Little Warren?"

Tris' grin never slipped. Her eyes, he noticed with interest, lightened by the second to a golden hazel with flecks of their previous emerald. "Well, he used to just be Warren, but with you around we had to call him something else." She passed him on the cobblestones in the front of the door, and started off on a path. He hurried to catch up with her now loping form. Before they were even in the trees, he felt himself gasping in the chill morning air. Stopping in the middle of the path, he tried to relax keyed up muscles. "Tris!" He bellowed after the fast disappearing form, wondering if the mutant were some kind of machine, to have so much stamina. After all, he was in reasonably good shape for the outside world. But, remembering the muscles under Gambit's trench coat, he suspected that reasonable out there was considered close to weakling in here. Turning, Tris instantly started back without losing any momentum.

"Warren, I'm so sorry, I forgot that you wouldn't be used to our training. I'm so used to running alone, or with Piotr. He was like an engine." Warren might have found the energy to be jealous had he not seem the fleeting angry expression cross her face at the mention of the former team mate's name. He stood again, feeling as if someone had run him over. Every muscle cried out in protest, although he had to admit that his back and shoulders still felt reasonably mobile, thanks to Tris' massage of the night before. He recalled back to his interest in the salve she had mentioned.

"What was that salve you used last night?"

She smiled. "Even without telepathy, I can tell you're trying to avoid running anymore." Warren grudgingly acknowledged her guess with wry upward quirk of his mouth. "But since you asked, it was a salve I make for massage, for numbing muscles. It has some warming properties as well, but nothing really extraordinary."

"What do you make it from?"

"I have a small plot in the gardens, where I grow herbs and flowers. That batch was calendula, lavender, and chocolate mint, with lamb's ear added after it set. One of my better experiments." She indicated the greenhouse on the opposite side of the lawn as them. "My bed's in there. Most of the plants prefer to be protected from winter snows."

"Mhmph." Warren made a small noise of assent. "Do you suppose I could have some? It helped, a lot, last night."

Tris seemed, if possible, even happier. Her eyes fairly glowed. "Yeah, sure."

"Not sure if it will be much help without the applicator though." _Hope that wasn't too, well, forward for lack of a better word. _He reflected again on the difference between her depression of the night before and this happy, jouncing Tris. She seemed to be as nearly flirtatious as he had seen her since that memorable night in the club.

"Well, I've had trouble fitting myself in the bottle so far, but Wolverine says that if y' get anythin' goin' fast 'nough, it'll fit." Her imitation of the Canadian's accent was impeccable. Better yet, she was responding to his overtures with similar banter rather than withdrawal. Warren was reminded of Bobby's comment. Did partners becomes couples, or was it the other way around? After all, Wolverine and Storm were not involved beyond a gentle gentility and understanding. And, much as he might think it was inappropriate, Warren had to admit he would like something more than that from the slim now hazel-eyed mutant in front of him.

"Well, I would be perfectly happy if you just came with it. Like a promotion."

Tris giggled, then started to laugh. She had a quiet, contained laugh, deeper than most women. "Tris, I hate to say it, but I honestly don't think I'm really cut out for this." Seeing the look on her face, he realized how his words must have sounded and hastened to explain. "I mean the running. I fly, but running with wings is just asking for an accident. What if a breeze suddenly hit me?" He used his hands to show himself hitting the ground with a resounding slap. "Or worse yet, I could get blown up into the air."

"Uhuh. Nice try, but you need your legs in equal or better shape than your wings. And I hate to say this - from experience, I can tell you it's not going to get any better. What Logan sets for a training program is what he thinks you need." With that, she started off again, this time power walking. "But Logan doesn't know everything."

Warren caught up for the third time that morning and smiled. "He never told me to run, did he?"

"No, that's my job." The sting was removed from the statement by the joking tone and nudge in his ribs. "And Tris says we're going for a nice walk before going back to the mansion for breakfast."

wWw

"Hey, Warren."

The day had passed by well enough. After breakfast, this time consisting on an enormous omelet from Storm, Warren had spent several hours closeted with Xavier. The telepath gently reminded him of his ties to the outside world, and had offered to have someone pick up his clothing and any money he might want, although the mansion supported the x-men in every way except extreme luxuries. At the end of the interview, Xavier had watched him stand, then held out an arresting hand.

"Mr. Worthington, you can have no idea of how important it is for us to continue to recruit new members to the team. Your unique skills will be invaluable to us. Thank you."

Embarrassed, Warren had opened the door before he could think of a retort. "Thank Tris." Storm had been waiting serenely for him outside the door. She briskly led Warren around the school, showing him the common rooms and various escapes and hideouts.

"Hello, earth to Warren!" A small pair of fingers snapped under his nose. He started, and looked up to Jubilee standing above him. Her trademark yellow coat was almost blinding in the still sterile walls of his room, where he had been lounging on the stool by his window. The junior team member must have gotten in through the open door.

"Hi Jubilee."

"Jubes. Everyone except the Professor calls me Jubes. Look, a couple of us are going out to have one last fling before we buckle down and study for our bump exams." Warren, trying to remember the term 'bump exams' vaguely recalled her telling him that the junior team members could take a test of sort to 'bump' them up to the senior team the night before at dinner. "Anyhow, we figure on going to dinner, maybe a movie. You want to come?"

Warren looked at the diminutive Asian, and smiled. Irrationally, while most the junior team were only a year or so younger than him, he felt segregated from them by his status as Tris' partner. "Is Tris going?"

Jubilee looked surprised. "Well, no, I don't think so. She never does. Not very social. Why?" Warren raised an eyebrow "Just because she's your partner, you don't have to baby-sit her or anything. Go ask her, she knows she's always welcome." The bright blue eyes regarded him again, this time a little more coldly, and withdrew through the door. "We're leaving at six!" came shouted back as Jubes continued down the hall. Warren stood with a groan - while nowhere near the horrendous situation of the night before, his muscles still ached and protested. Pulling on the leather vest Remy had gifted him permanently that morning, he settled the black leather over his shoulders. The lacings in the side seams, once taken out, left a long open slit on either side of the garment, allowing him to easily slide the vest on. He walked down the corridor and knocked quietly on the door he identified as Tris'. The silence inside was instantly broken by what sounded like a yawn. Staring at the door, Warren noticed a watermark down the front of the deep green paint. Looking down the hallway, he realized that only his door and the one between him and Tris were the same sterile white. Most occupants painted their doors and rooms vibrant colors.

"Come in."

Warren turned the knob and went in. It was exactly as he remembered it - the same forest color scheme; deep greens, tans, and rich browns broken by the colorful quilts on the bed. The only difference lay in Tris, who was sitting on the bed looking sleepy. She yawned again.

"Sor..sor...sorry," she finally managed to get out. "I was up late last night."

Warren smiled. "Jubilee wants to know if you want to go out with them for a bump exam pre-celebration, or something like that. Dinner and a movie she said."

Tris' expression didn't falter. Still looking mildly drowsy, she smiled gently. "No, I don't feel like it. Thanks though."

"Well, then..." He hesitated, then plunged ahead. _Good Lord, you're nineteen, quit acting fourteen. _"You want to catch a movie downstairs in the common room? If everyone else is out, then we might be able to get the TV. without a fight." He rustled a wing uncertainly.

Tris examined him, long legs folded under her. "Yeah, okay. Meet you down there at six?"

"Great. You have something in mind?"

A slow smile spread across her face, finally tingeing her eyes with an extra sparkle. "Do I ever."

xXx

"No. No. No."

I smiled impudently. Something had changed during the run this morning - I wasn't quite sure exactly what, but Warren didn't seem nearly as stiff. Come to think of it, I never even thought he was stiff until I realized what his definition of loose was. I held up the DVD case again and smiled.

"You asked if I had something in mind. This is it." Brandishing _What Women Want_, I advance stealthily. "Unless you wanted to pick something out?"

Warren reached out at random and handed me a case. Taking it, I manage a credible smirk. "Ahh, Warren, how cute." Turning the case around, I show him the front. "I never knew you were a Teletubbies fan."

"What!" He snatched it back, absently tucking one wing closer behind his back. I sigh. "Warren, it's six thirty. What would you like to watch?" I reach out and place my hand on his bare arm, noticing that the vest I convinced Rogue to convince Remy to give him fits perfectly. Warren rustles his wings, something I'm beginning to pick up as a sign of unease or embarrassment. I remove my hand, figuring that must be it. "Come on, it's not like your decision is going to save the world. I wash my hands of this!" Throwing my hands up theatrically and walking back to the couch, I sit down before realizing how I just sounded.

Great, I really need to control my animalistic instincts to seek a mate. At least, I think that's how Hank half-jokingly put it when I first starting flirting with Piotr.

Warren turns around, rustles a bit more, and then puts something in the player before sitting on the opposite end of the couch. I'm about to ask why he sat down there, when the movie turns on, blasting introduction music I easily recognize. _Rear Window _is one of my favorite videos, just before _Titanic_. Thinking along those lines, I giggle.

"What?"

"Oh, I was just thinking. This movie always makes me think of the time I stood up in the theater and cheered at the midnight showing of _Titanic _when Leonardo DeCaprio dies. I was instantly attacked by the other three hundred women in the theater."

He grimaced. "Ouch."

"Could have been worse. I could actually like him."

A pillow hits the side of my head as Kitty walks in, sitting down between us. "Kit-Kat, why aren't you out?" The sullen almost tearful expression on her face surprises me. Kitty never looks unhappy - she's well known as the happiest person in the mansion of social misfits.

"Bobby and I had an argument."

"Oh."

Warren has tactfully turned the movie down to almost inaudibility. I reach out and hug Kitty to me, feeling the younger girl start to relax. Oddly enough, she doesn't seem to be crying. "He...he told me he thought we should start seeing other people." I close my eyes. "Kitty, I'm so sorry." I rapidly try to think of any reason for Bobby's sudden dismissal of what I thought was a very successful relationship. I widen my eyes at Warren, trying to get him to say something encouraging. He rises to the challenge magnificently as Kitty continues to clutch my shirt.

"The idiot wants to see someone other than you? I thought this was a school for the gifted!" The amount of disbelief in Warren's voice, mixed with the bite of humor, is just what Kitty needs. She turns around and looks up at Warren. I can feel her overwhelming need for reassurance of her personal charms. I rub her arm, wondering how long she's been wandering around the mansion until she stumbled onto us. "Kitty, Bobby's loss. 'Kay girlfriend?" My use of her common term creates a wry but sincere smile. She stands. I wish I was better at these personal relations things, but that's really Storm's perfew.

"Hey, sorry for interrupting your movie. I'm gonna go catch some sleep."

Warren asked the question before I had a chance to. "You can stay here. We don't mind." I smile and nod to Kitty, glad that she isn't a telepath and as such is unaware that my stomach just slipped a few notches. Damn, I'm too interested in him. I'd almost overlooked it with all the catastrophes recently, but he is, to borrow a term from Princess, fine. Kitty shook her head. "No, I'll be alright." She turned and walked away. Something about her frightened me. Normally Kitty is so open it's like reading a primer trying to catch her thoughts, but now a wall has been built. I'm not picking up anything, even with shields down. Nothing except...

"Warren, could you hang on for a sec?"

Confused, Warren nods. I hardly wait for the assent before shooting out of the rec room. Kitty is climbing the stairs ahead of me. So tired, so sad, ready to just give it up...

"Kit-kat?"

Kitty turns and looks at me with the eyes of a ghost. I can feel her transparency as if it were tangible. But I know what I need to say, I know what I wanted someone to say. "Kitty, the hurting won't last forever. No pain lasts forever. It's like..." I fumble for words. I need to be eloquent, convincing, but I've never had either skill. So instead I show her a brief memory, trying to express what I can't say in words.

_The sun is bright, too bright. I can feel it burning me, but can't move, won't move, don't want to move..._

_Blood, on the rooftop. Blood, on my hands. Blood, it's all that matters, the knife and the blood and the pain, yesyesyesyes the pain, more pain, please..._

_Pain, hurt, but no tears, no tears left, nothing left, won't move. Need more pain, need less pain, agony or happiness, no more middle ground, please, please, please..._

Kitty is sitting on the top step, crying. I stand where I am, exhausted from the recollection. _Oh yes, agony or happiness... _

"Kitty. Take it from me. Find the happiness."

She sniffles and looks up. "You aren't going to watch me, or tell the Professor?"

"Only if you do it."

She nods, aware of the fact that as a telepath I can watch her, but knowing that I'm trusting her. Trusting her to decide. Standing, she walks down the stairs, her long brown hair duller than normal, but her eyes alive again. She hugs me, tucking her head against me, still shaking. "Does it really go away?"

I hug back, gently. "It really does." We stand in the hallway until Kitty pulls away, wiping her eyes shakily, then laughing. "I feel so stupid." I smile, then grin, answering with a often used remark of hers. "Like totally." She laughs again, this time with depth to it. I relax after a swift scan. She'll be all right, at least for tonight. The thoughts of indecision are gone, replaced by a bone-deep need to sleep, to rest. I nudge the exhaustion along a little. "Kit, I understand, 'kay? You want anything, ever, you need anything, I'll help you. I'll even kick Bobby's ass free of charge." She looks down, then looks back up at me. "Thanks." Starting back up the stairs, I watch until she's turned the corner before walking tiredly back into the rec room. Warren looks stuffed on the couch, his eyes glazed.

"What was that?"

I flop down next to him and hit the play button. Hmm, the ballet dancer just lost her bra. I look up at him. "Wha'?"

"What. Was. That." He is nervous, anxious. I raise my eyebrows, perplexed at his attitude. Unless... crap, was I leaking that memory to anyone but Kitty? Thinking rapidly back, I realize with a jolt that Warren was likely included, even through his shielding. How much did he pick up though, as I wasn't aiming at him?

"You see blood?"

He nods, looked relieved. "Felt so desolate, saw blood. And... a knife." A small twitch reveals he has made the connection. His jaw muscles tighten, and he roughly grabs my wrist, forcing the underside of the white arm up where he can see it. Tracing the small white scars with his forefinger, he looks up. The expression in his pale eyes is pitying, yet somehow understanding. I try to pull away, only to have his hand tighten further. Damn, I'm probably going to have bruises tommorrow, I bruise so easily. "Warren, let go."

"Why?"

I smile, not the expression he expected. I know he isn't asking why he should let go, but rather why my memory ever took place. My smile turns to perplexed, as I wonder that I'm picking up anything from him. Sliding my free hand up his hand, I wrap my fingers around his wrist in turn. Astonished, I realize that the shields around his empathy are slipping, becoming more malleable, more open. No wonder he picked up my memory. It was very emotional, so it makes sense his empathy would snap it up. I shrug and try to pull away. This time he lets my arm go. I rub at the reddening marks, mentally swearing in every language I've managed to pick up at the mansion. Merde, Nien, that doesn't even begin to cover it VERDAMNTE! That memory must have really affected him.

"Oh shit. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"I'll worry about it if I feel like it."

Well, that's certainly a little more petulant than normal. I raise my eyebrow again, and he seems to realize what he said. I smile again, then scooch myself over to his side of the couch. "I was... in pain. Before I found my family, before I knew what real pain was. Just normal teenage angst." Yeah, just normal abused mutant foster child teenage angst.

"Sorry about leaking to you that way." Cuddling my head against his chest, I sigh. His chin above me relaxes, then the corner of his mouth goes up. "My fault for overreacting. Sorry about your arm." His heart is going a million miles a minute, can't think why. I'm not the type of girl guys get excited about cuddling up to, no soft curves or swells in sight. "Don't worry about it. I bruise too easily anyway." His chest is very warm I notice drowsily, the skin smoother than the black leather vest he's wadding up under my head...

I shiver and sit up, feeling the ghostlike mental fingers of Warren's empathy slide away. In this last hour he's gone from Hoover Dam shields to trying to manipulate me into sleep? Woe to me, my mutation wasn't so easy to manage. "Warren, keep yourself out of my head until we finish the movie? I'd like to see the end." Looking up, I see a surprised look on his face then grimace, catching his thought.

_I wasn't in her head, wasn't even touching her head, just wishing she would calm down, so stupid to hurt her, stupid, what will Wolverine do to me?_

"Wolvie's not going to do anything to you, and you're an empath. You wanting to soothe me about put me to sleep just now. Now be a good pillow... ooooh, this is one of my favorite parts, I love the nurse..." I snuggle in a little closer and feel Warren stiffen slightly. I back up instantly, holding my hands out in a conciliatory manner.

"Sorry, I'm so into cuddling I forget some people don't like it." Now it's my turn to say stupid, stupid. Just because everyone in the mansion is used to my snuggle-bug qualities doesn't mean Warren is ready for a tangle of limbs just to watch a movie. In the totally platonic sense, naturally. For now. Where did that come from? For now, nothing. No laters added. He's much too good-looking to be interested in me. Snapping out of the circular and garbled thoughts, I look up to see Warren's blue eyes watching me, and realize my first mistake. Answering his thoughts, drat, that was even stupider than cuddling; people like to say things if they want them answered.

To my surprise, he's holding an arm out, looking like a true Hell's Angel with the black leather vest and his wings spread over the back of the couch. I take the invitation gratefully and snuggle up again, noticing that he's much more comfortable than Wolverine. Logan's too hard, if you take my daughterly meaning. Warren is still soft enough to be relaxing. I arch my neck and sigh, making inaudible contented sounds before finally telekinetically pulling a quilt off the stack under the coffee table and spreading it over my still jean-clad legs.

To my continued surprise, Warren arbitrarily pulls the quilt up to cover the rest of my body and his lap, tucking the bruised wrist carefully under. Gently pulling my head closer to his shoulder, he rests his chin on my hair. "Mind?" he asks quietly, the words vibrating in his throat. I can tell he's trying to make up for his harshness of earlier, but nobody's going to see me arguing. "Nuhuh." The negative noise seems to suit him, as he relaxes and returns to the movie. I feel him rumble slightly in laughter at the continued banter between the two characters onscreen.

Taking a chance, I flick the light switch with my kinesis, allowing only the few rays sneaking in through the shaded windows to illuminate the room. Warren looks up at the plastic click, but otherwise ignores my meddling. Trying to scan him through the still formidable shields for his possible reaction, I slowly draw my knees up under me until they brush against his thigh, then snake an arm under the quilt covering his chest to loop the abused forearm and wrist around his upper abdomen, feeling the soft yet defined muscles. He tenses while I move, then relaxes as I settle down again. I feel the quilt move off my arm as he examines the darkening marks on my arm, lightly stroking them with the pad of his thumb. "Sorry." The remark is barely audible to even my ears. I carefully move my head under his chin, cautious of hurting him. "Don't mind, don't care." I hope the singsong voice will help him to drop the guilt. "Besides, it's not like it hurts or anything."

"Good."

I smile at his rejoinder, aware that he's not done with the guilt but is willing to leave it verbally alone at my requests. His hands continue their soft massage, seemingly under separate control from the otherwise rapt viewer. I relax entirely for the first time in days. I can't ever let go, not even at night with the Fuzzballs wandering the corridor. I'm always alert, always watching. It's a good way to live, I'm not complaining, but sometimes it's nice to relax this muscle group and that muscle group and oh! that feels wonderful...

_::Tris, you're melting::_

This time it's Jean. Can't I get even a few minutes alone with my team mate?

_::Jean, it's called relaxing::_

_::Not when it's against Warren with a particularly happy expression it's not. Look, I'm here to apologize. If I had known what the Room would do with my instructions, I wouldn't have done it::_

_::Suffering from a guilty conscience or did the Professor tell you come here?::_

_::Forget it. Thanks for coming, whatever your motives::_

_::No problem, it's nice to be appreciated::_

_::Appreciation and worship **are** two separate issues_::

_::Only in the mind of an unbeliever::_

I chuckle, tucking my head away from Warren to hide what I'm sure is an evil grin. From the door Jean turns on the light, bringing light to the dark room. "Night kids. Don't stay up to late. Path, you mind trying to repress Jubilee if she comes home with Lance again?"

"Sure mom. Tell Scott 'night for me."

I feel Warren uncomfortably shift, his wings brushing the couch back behind my head before turning his head back to the TV. "She's gone...wait, I don't have to tell you that. Do I?"

"No. But I appreciate it anyways. Lance is Jubilee's newest interest by the way. He's a Brotherhood member." Um, maybe I should have said something about Warren being her newest newest interest. No, I'll let him figure that one out on his own.

Warren turns his head, resting his cheek just to the left of my part. His words blow a warm breath into my neatly tied hair. "I thought we fought with the Brotherhood." Oh, I am liking this we business far too much for my own good. "We do, but that doesn't mean switches can't happen. We lost Piotr to them, and they lost Remy to us, or rather, to Rogue. Call it an uneven trade if you will." I sniff at the death of the dog onscreen. "You see, I can't understand that. Why didn't he just douse the whole area in pepper spray or something?"

"He wanted to punish it, I think. Like he loved his wife, and even though he killed her he doesn't want a dog digging her up? That's my take at least."

"I just figured he's nuts, but your idea sounds better."

The rumble of laughter again. We watch together in companiable silence for some time before speaking again. By this time I've relaxed every muscle I can, to point that my eyelids are drooping through sheer pleasure of the feeling of floating. I don't realize I'm purring until Warren inhales sharply and moves his head off mine.

"Are you purring?"

Warren's surprised voice jolts me into a little more normal sense of time. The noise stops. "Um, yes?"

"You can purr."

The statement is almost an incredulous question. I answer with the dignity I believe it deserves.

"Yes. I was just relaxing."

"It was nice."

I think I could start to really enjoy watching movies with Warren.

So, please let me know what you thought of my monstrously overdue chapter and earn my undying gratitude! Any ideas or suggestions are appreciated! Watch _Rear Window_! It's great! These exclamations are here for a reason!


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **As afore mentioned, I OWN NOTHING!!!

**Summery: **Ahhhh! This is turning into a soap opera! I swear, the evil plot bunnies are tieing me to the bed at night and making me write more... More Tris/Warren fuzziness. Had a thought - astonishing, huh? ;) - if I made up Tris I guess I get to name this relationship, right? So let me hear from you, what combination of Warren (or Angel, getting to naming him that I promise) and Tris (Path) should I choose as the 'official' coupling? Tarren? Wris? Tren? Watr? Tune in next week for the final contestants, hope to hear from you guys on your ideas!!! Some swearing (naughty me - or rather Jubilee and Warren) in this chapter. Thanks to all who sent reviews, I send you a cyber snickerdoodle. Enjoy!

**Chapter Nine**

"Tris?"

The light knock on my door sends me flying out of the bed and onto the floor in a crouch before my brain voice-prints the visitor as Bobby. I glance at the clock, to see the glowing digital numbers at 12:32. Great. I only got to bed twenty-five minutes ago. I stalk over, ready to 'path and 'kinetic Iceman into oblivion, only to meet the tear-streaked face of Kitty staring up at me from behind Bobby. I lean against the doorway, exhausted. I need some sugar.

"What?" I'm doing my best not to sound like I want to slam the door in their faces. I need all the beauty sleep I can get, especially with a five-thirty alarm call tomorrow for a morning run with Warren and Logan. Watching _Titanic _after _Rear Window _finished is sounding like a worse idea every second, even if it did mean I got to cuddle to my hearts content with a very handsome blond mutant who is only two doors down from me right now, probably snoring to his hearts content.

Kitty smiled at me, radiant. "We made up. Bobby came home and talked to me." I'm wondering why they came to tell me this. I mean, it's great, don't get me wrong, but... I'm not exactly the adult in this mansion. I'm only eighteen. "That's really really great, although," I recall enough from our earlier conversation to glare at Bobby, "I'm wondering why Bobster said something like that in the first place."

"The purple bats made me do it." Bobby looks petulant at my asking. I blink. Now we have purple bats? I need sugar and sleep, in that order.

"Yes, and now they want you to bring them some cheese."

"Cheese?"

"Yes."

"Tris?"

I come awake much as I did in my dream, attack position my first instict. This time I know the voice is real though, as the light footfalls of Jubilee shuffle outside my door. I throw on a shirt before opening the door to see the mansion sparkler standing in her trademark yellow jacket. She smiles at me and runs a hand through disheveled black hair. "Hey Jubes." I lean on the doorway, feeling a distinct aura of deja-vu about the event.

"Kitty told me about her and Bobby, and about the memory you showed her. Just coming to say," Jubilee looks over my shoulder and squints, "thanks, for everything, and sorry you've had such a shitty life."

"Jubilee, are you drunk?" I sniff suspiciously. While she might be my best friend, I know this isn't her style. I smell a little bit of alcohol about her, but not enough to indicate she's been drinking. Her blue eyes look back at me in perfect seriousness. "No, just... look. After I talked to Kitty, I just realized what a crappy friend I am. I mean, I'm hitting on Warren, and you obviously fancy him, and I always figured my life would, I dunno, always have you in it as my geeky friend from foster care. And here you are, I mean, the whole mansion depends on you. Wolvie loves you pieces, all the little kids crawl all over you. I guess," and Jubilee switched her gaze to my bedstead, taking a deep breath, "I guess I'm jealous that you're more powerful than me, and that everyone loves you, while I'm just the punk Chinese girl who can make fireworks."

I reach out and grab her shoulder, hard. "Jubes, what's wrong?" She shakes me off, her eyes now glowing and her mouth set. "God, Tris, does something have to be wrong for me to apologize? I mean..." she stopped, confused, now looking at her feet, then squinking an eye at me. "Look, just forget it." Starting to turn away, the much shorter and slighter girl is unready for my grab at her wrist. Swinging my best friend around into a hug, I whisper before releasing her. "Hey, forget it. Best friends, right?" It might sound dumb, but the emotions behind it are what counts, and I'm letting myself leak emotion all over the Asian. To my consternation, Jubes hugs me back before swiping an embarressed hand over her eyes and handing me a small box. "Yeah. Got this for you." Darting out of sight, I see her rush to her own door, passing by a tired looking Remy. Remy waves at me and yawns on his way down the stairs before I shut the door. So much for a private moment. Crawling back into bed, I've just curled up into my usual cat-like position when another knock wakes me. God, I'm never going to get any sleep at this rate.

Dragging myself out of the bed, I open the door, considering falling flat on top of whoever it is just for effect. I'm so tired at this point I can't even scan. Warren is standing outside the door looking hot n' bothered - where did that come from? Too tired. Running a shaky hand through his messy blond hair, Warren stares down at me in puzzlement. "I know this sounds wierd, but I just woke up and felt like, um, something was bothering you. So...I came to check. I guess it was a false alarm." His wings rustle. I look up at him, then smile, rewarded by an answering smile in the dusky hallway.

"Naw, I was talking to Jubes. I must have been leaking farther than I thought, didn't remember you were an empath. Have to get used to having another teep on my floor. All the others are on the other side of the mansion or downstairs." Warren relaxes, then smiles. "Well, good-night then." His voice has an odd quality to it, something I've heard before, where have I heard it? I haven't felt this tired in, um... can't remember when. I look up to reply to Warren's good night, and see him much closer than before. He watchs my eyes, then moves slowly even further. I feel myself shrinking away infintesimally, then realize this is Warren, and I'm probably asleep and dreaming again anyways. He stops just before touching me, his minty-smelling breath cool on my lips. The question of whether or not he uses Colgate passed insanely through my mind.

_::Ball's in her court::_

I hear the thought and respond without thinking, tilting my head up and pressing my lips against his swiftly in a chaste kiss before withdrawing. Warren remains close, leaning in against my door, then pulls away. He's watching me with those pale eyes, and I feel suddenly much more awake, much more female than I've felt in a long time. Not to mention slightly short of breath. "Night." I shut the door slowly, and then slide down the closed panel to land with a thud on the floor. Did I just kiss Warren? I think I must have... wait, he wanted to kiss me with my hair all rumpled and in an old cotton shirt of Logan's serving for night attire? Must have been a dream. It wasn't like it was much of a kiss - I may not be very experienced in other matters, but I certainly kissed before. Yet that kiss was sweeter than any I ever recieved from anyone else. No domineering, just enough confidence to come in close and enough patience to let me take the last step.

I continue sitting knowing I won't have a moments peace until I think the entire situation out. Rubbing tired eyes, I try to make my brain work out what just happened. How do I react to him tomorrow? Run over the components of why he might kiss me, and combine them into an answer. He hasn't had a chance to meet anyone except me here, which means I'm just about the only available overage female he's seen. He already made it clear that I'm one of the few people, much less females his own age, who hasn't gone running for the hills when I saw his wings. I'm also his team mate, which brings up that I will automatically be spending a great deal of time training with him. Which adds together in my brain to say that so far as he's concerned, I'm a pretty good option by elimination for romantic ties. So my best bet is to act like nothing happened, and show him around the mansion introducing him to the rest of the sweethearts that live here. Rahne will be back tommorrow, as will Dust. They're both his age, both unattached, and both pretty. That ought to show him that there are others beside me to be interested in. My feelings for him should not prohibit a relationship between Warren and someone else that he likes. After all, Rogue and Remy weren't partners for quite some time - it was Logan and Rogue, Remy and Storm.

Stumbling back to bed, I flop on top of the covers, too hot suddenly to climb under the mountains of comforters and quilts. Curling up yet again, I toss for a few minutes before realizing that sleep is now out of the question. Pulling on my sweats but leaving Logan's shirt hanging down past mid-thigh, I creep stealthily out of the my bedroom down to the couch in the rec room, not sure why I feel like going there but feeling a pull nonetheless. It isn't until I've snuggled into the soft suede that I smell the faint odor of Warren in the fabric. I rub my face in the arm, inhaling the slightly musky/feathery scent of Warren, and the reasoning behind Logan keeping Aurora's gloves suddenly makes sense. It isn't neccessarily because he lusts after her, or whatever, it's because it's nice having the smell of someone you trust and like around you when you drop off too sleep. Makes you feel safe somehow...

wWw

beep beep beep

"Huh? Mmmhrph."

beep beep beep

Warren ducked his head under the pillow again, wishing he was a kinetic so he could chuck that alarm clock across the room. Funny, a week ago he was wishing he had never sprouted wings. Now he desperately wanted more mutations.

beep beep beep beep bee...

Warren relaxed. Must have shut itself off. He hadn't been able to sleep very well last night, no matter what the time on his bedside clock said. He kept remembering Tris, the way her hair had hidden her face when she backed away, the feel of her light kiss on his mouth, the spark in her eyes when he bent in towards her, with never a glance towards his outspread wings. Ugh, he was supposed to get up this morning to go running with her and Logan, and...

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

It sounded like the alarm was right next to his ear. Shouting in shock, Warren lunged out of bed to see Logan standing by the bed. The alarm clock was grasped in one strong hairy hand directly against the pillow where he had taken refuge. Focusing his eyes at the slight dizziness from jumping up so fast, Warren looked at Logan. The mutant smiled grimly and shut the alarm off again by hitting the snooze button.

"We're gonna talk. Now."

Warren looked at the digital display in Wolverine's hands and mentally swore. Fucking five o'clock. His alarm shouldn't have gone off for another half an hour. He looked back up at Logan's formidible brows and mutton chops, and felt himself running a hand over his own face, feeling the slight stubble. "About what?" His surprise was completely honest. He had no idea what the x-man wanted to talk to him about.

"Tris is asleep in the rec room."

"Um?"

Warren was still in the dark. What was she doing down there? Hadn't she gone back into her room after - he swiftly thanked Logan's genes for not making his opponent a telepath - their kiss? He wasn't so out of it as all that.

"Tris is on the couch in the rec room, smellin' like you."

Warren felting comprehension dawning, no doubt partially due to the smell of the cup of coffee Logan has set down on his nightstand in his hand. He walked over to his dresser, now filled with his old belongings from home, and chose out a pair of sweat pants. "So? We watched a movie last night. She sat next to me." _Let's not mention the snuggle-fest, shall we?_

"Look, I'm just warnin' y'. Don' make me kill y'."

"Whaa...at's going on?"

Tris stood in the doorway, asking the question mid-yawn. Her hair formed a dark halo as the normally controlled curls poofed. She shrugged at their expressions negligently. "Logan woke me up when he left the rec room. So what're you doing?"

Warren had the distinct feeling that Tris knew exactly what was going on, but was giving Wolverine the chance of an ignomoneous retreat. Logan took it, shrugging lithly and walking past her, ruffling the already ruined ponytail before stalking downstairs, his footsteps astonishingly light for someone of his size.

"Logan ragging on you again?"

Warren had turned his back on the slim mutant, unsure of how to react to her. Sure, it wasn't like he had forced anything on her - his brain reminded him it hadn't exactly been anything but the sort of kiss he would have gotten from a sister - but his interest in her made the situation somewhat sticky. Usually, if the girl called you back, she liked you. If the number sat on her table gathering dust, she wasn't interested. Taking a small inhalation, knowing a deep breath would attract her attention, he turned around and smiled.

"Yeah, just the usual."

"Uhuh. Touch my little girl, you're dead meat? Don't sweat it, he's just worried about me. Doesn't want another," she yawned again, covering her mouth, "sorry, another Piotr repeat. Besides, he would, um, well, be able to smell if anything had actually happened. Gah, you feel like maybe _Titanic _was a mistake?"

Warren smiled a little wider, still far from firm ground. Obviously Tris wasn't going to make a big thing over the kiss, if you could call it that, but did that mean she wasn't taking him seriously as a romantic possibility? Unaware of it, Warren twitched an eyebrow remembering the dance of their first meeting. No, he thought that she was interested. Maybe she didn't know how to procede, so she was acting cool about it rather than gushing all over him? That would fit with what he knew of her personality. Walking into the bathroom, he shut the door and started to brush his teeth, somehow inexplicably comfortable with the fact that she would be waiting right outside the door. Something about her confident easy-going manners either set him at ease or on edge.

"Hey Warren? You're a coffee person, right?"

He remembered Logan's forgotten cup of coffee and opened the door to see her using the mug as a hand-warmer. He nodded, and ran fingers through his hair, wincing at a sharp tug of pain when they encountered a knot. She nodded back. "Kay. I'll go get you a cup and return this to Logan then. You take anything in it?" Warren shook his head.

"No, I'll get it myself. Thanks though, for the offer. You might want to get dressed." He was having trouble focusing with her long pale legs peeking out from under a long man's cotton shirt, not to mention what the two buttons undone at the top were doing with his imagination. It wasn't as if he was an innocent, after all. Not every woman found him unattractive or freakish, just very close to every woman.

_And no, drunk women don't count in that tally._

Tris looked down, and smirked. "Actually, that's what I was doing when I came running to your rescue."

Warren kept himself looking at her face, and felt his mouth curving. He bowed gracefully, fanning his wings and cupping them around his body. "M'lady, I am forever in your debt. If you will excuse me, I shall go and cleanse my soul for our morning run."

Tris laughed, then forced her mouth into a straight line. "Pray then, make haste, for we may not long tarry in this place." She smiled, curtsied, and then turned on her heel out the door, shutting it behind her. Warren went into his bathroom, and set the water a little colder than normal. He had a feeling he needed it.

Yup. That's the next installment. I'm starting classes again next week, so the chapters may come fewer and farther between than previously. All who review will recieve a free show of my cat and a pidgeon doing the can-can!


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **Wait? What did you say? I don't own any of these characters? Well, I'll be hog-tied with a mud puppy in a hot tub! At least, that's verbatim what an ex-boyfriend of mine used to say. Don't ask. (shakes head and shudders)

**Summery: **Alright. I'm messing with the comic and movie time tables and loyalties somewhat in this story, but I decided to just make everyone the age I wanted them to be, rather than separating the Generation X from everyone else. Yes, I know Rahne is Scottish, but since I have no idea how to write a Scottish accent, I just wrote her with regular words. Lots of UST coming right up, as both main characters are frazzled. Tickle-fest as well; if you've never participated in one, now is the time to do so!

**Chapter Ten**

Warren was starting to feel out of his depth.

The morning run was bad enough, with Tris and Wolverine trotting along together talking and laughing. He could tell they were going slower than usual, and he didn't have a hard time keeping up with the two mutants. The problem was, Tris seemed to doing her level best to distance herself from him. She was friendly, polite, and funny, but the faint hint of that spark he had seen in her eyes was gone. Of course, if she actually **looked** in his eyes it might be easier to tell.

Stopping outside his room, Warren leaned against the door and laid his head against it. He was beginning to recognize the feelings he had for Tris were something slightly less than platonic or even spur of the moment attraction. Oh, he had an inkling of that last night - but the inkling had crystallized into certainty this morning when he saw her in the hallway. It wasn't the fact that she was too gorgeous to be legal in the darkly gray exercise pants and tank top, dark hair unbrushed and put up in a ponytail, eyes an emerald color with flecks of ash to match the clothes. These things might have made him sneak glances at random, but it was the way she smiled at him when he came down that captured his interest fully. The way she turned from Logan to look at him and smile, her eyes lit by that internal spark and her entire stance fluid, made him want to either kiss her again or run from the room screaming for joy.

_Terribly mature Warren._

Encouraged, he had descended and walked over to his team mate, touching her shoulder briefly when he came to a stop. At the touch, her smile disappeared from the expressive eyes though the lips never moved, and from then on he had felt shunted from the inner walls of her trust to stand outside giant gates.

He just didn't get it. This morning, when she came into his room, he had though that perhaps she was acting, keeping her emotions in check. But the thought that she might have had negative emotions, that hadn't really crossed his mind for more than a flickering second. And now, here she was trying to introduce him to every reappearing female creature in the entire mansion when all he wanted was to spend a minute alone with her and try to figure out what he had done! He heard his name being called from the kitchen below. Trapped.

"Warren, this is Rahne, or Wolfsbane. Rahne, this is the new team member Warren."

Warren smiled dutifully and held out his hand. This girl was slightly older than the rest, perhaps Tris' age. An engaging smile and golden eyes created the aura of a jovial personality, though the scar under her chin spoke of something else. Making a mental note to himself to ask why Tris wasn't introducing him as her partner, Warren tried to create a genuine smile for the next woman, someone named Dust. If he didn't get some time alone with Tris soon he was going to start molting from sheer anxiety.

"Here. Sorry about the crowd, but we always have a welcome home party after the breaks." Tris indicated the rec room through the double doors leading from the kitchen, where the entire school had gathered for what promised to be an all day affair of greeting, hugging, and in the case of the Dust girl, passionately kissing a slimy youth with mottled green and yellow skin. Tris, following his gaze, frowned. "I didn't know about that." He turned towards her murmur. "What?"

"Never mind. Look, there's Rahne. How about you go talk to her while I try to dig something out of this pack?" She smiled, acting almost like her usual self. Well, he had to admit, her usual self he had seen over the last few days, some of which was spent trying to talk her out of seemingly suicidal tendencies and some of which was spent being teased and infatuated. Not exactly a promising cross section. He twitched at the memory of her memory, and made another note to talk to her about that. His Tris to-do list was becoming alarmingly long, especially since every item entailed privacy. Which he wasn't about to get right now.

_Come on Warren, she's greeting her friends after spring break. Quit being so possessive._

"Warren, you have to budge along a little before Rahne dies of old age."

The winged mutant realized he had been standing still during his ruminations, and obediently started towards the couch where Wolfsbane was lounging comfortably before processing what she had said. Frowning, Warren wondered what was up with Tris yet again before sitting down next to Rahne and attempting to distract himself with a little conversation.

xXx

This is too hard. I can't do it any more. Why do I have to be so fair? If I was any other sane female in this place, with the possible exception of Storm the serene goddess, I would have welcomed his attentions and snatched him up, not try to introduce him to the multitudes of beautiful women flooding this place. I'm an emotional wreck. I would blame it on PMS, except I don't _get _PMS. My cycle is much more animalistic, and I'm not due to start until mid-summer, so no excuse. Try to shield, or else Jean is going to notice something is up. Great, he's laughing with her. Tris, Tris, get yourself together. Dust being unavailable was a little disheartening - I'm sure that's why my stomach fell through my left knee, no other reason for it, the fact that it means less competition has nothing to do with it - but Rahne is a sweetheart, and the fact that her mutation is just as odd as Warren's will no doubt make them get along great. Of course, my mutation is obvious all the time like his, not that that has any affect on a relationship, look at Jean and Scott...

"Tris, I don't know what you're thinking, but you're giving me a migraine."

I jump. Jean is behind me at the snack bar, rubbing her temples delicately. I resist the urge to snap at her. How teenage of me. Just because my world is having a little trouble standing doesn't mean I need to go around trying to bulldoze everyone else's. Besides, I understand a reaction headache better than most.

"Sorry Jean. Just, just thinking."

Jean nods and leaves me alone with the celery. Popping an olive in my mouth, I make a face at little Warren, who is visiting with his parents. His older brother is a student at the school. Little Warren shrieks and runs for the couch where Warren and Rahne are sitting. I follow him carrying a plate of eatables, preparing myself for the worst. What is the worst. Well, he could be instantly smitten with her rosy cheeks, luxurious honey-brown waves, and golden eyes, as well as the luscious figure and keen sense of humor, and decide to marry her on the spot. Yeah, I would say that qualifies as worst case.

"...and so then...Tris, could you take him out? I don't like most little kids, do you?" Rahne turns shimmering eyes on Warren, and I feel my heart work it's way down to join my stomach. I didn't know Rahne didn't like little kids, but we really don't have many around under sixth grade, so it's not surprising. Even a telepath can't know everything about everybody, not without going crazy.

"No, I don't mind them. C'mon little Warren. Find any bugs lately?"

Little Warren immediately launches into a long and rambling story about finding an ant hill that morning and how his mom won't let him save the house spiders in his room. Warren manages to keep a straight face, nodding solemnly at every draw for breath until the little furry tyke decides to go see if there are any spiders in the mansion he can add to those in his room. I'm melting. Looks good, smells good, and loves little kids. What more can a girl ask for? Rahne, however, is obviously uneasy until the purple boy is gone. She laughs, then shrugs.

"Sounds stupid, but I'm just not comfortable around them." Warren makes some inane comment about how some people are just like that, and thanks me for the plate. "Want to join us, Tris?" I almost say yes, but looking at Rahne remember my plan just in time. "No, thanks. I think Logan needs me in the kitchen." Skittering out of the room, I trudge back out to the crowded kitchen, and up to my room, begging a headache to Scott as an excuse. He frowns, muttering something about all the telepaths having a headache and waves me by. I practically teleport up the stairs and into my soft bed, where I can relax and run over my arguments for the millionth time since my morning jog with Logan and Warren. Wrapping myself up in an old quilt, I turn on my side facing the window. The tree outside rustles softly in the bright afternoon light.

It's very simple. I leave Warren strictly alone, evidencing no interest in him whatsoever while he gets the chance to make the acquaintance of the other mansion females. Only if he appears to have discarded every other woman **and **shows a pronounced interest in me - like another kiss - may I consider trying to make a go of a romantic relationship with him.

Should be simple. Ought to be very easy. It's not like I have to do anything, more of not doing anything. I. Can. Do. This.

Being lazy has never been so hard in my life.

I was still collapsed on the bed when someone knocked on the door

"Come in."

It's probably Logan checking up on me. Scott did have his 'I'm-a-snitch' look on when I left the kitchen. 'Kay, how am I going to explain this? Uh... everyone coming back has overloaded me after the week of only needing light shielding. I got a headache, ergo, I decided to come to my mostly shielded room and crash until the students stop broadcasting high emotions left and right. That sounds believable, especially since Jean just begged off on the same number. I'm getting a headache just thinking about how to explain getting a headache.

"Tris?"

Oh bad. Oh bad, bad, bad.

wWw

Glancing up after Tris, Warren saw her disappear upstairs through a break in the crowd. He decided to take a small step on his list and see if Rahne knew anything about his suddenly illusive partner. He looked back into the golden eyes, crinkled with laughter, but was unready for the thoughtful expression that she projected when his eyes met hers. Warren fidgeted one wing slightly.

"So who's partner you going to be?"

Warren looked up from his lap. "Tris', actually. Would you... well, mind, if I asked you some questions about her?"

Rahne crossed a shapely leg and tilted her head in an oddly doglike mannerism before answering guardedly, "I suppose so, although I really don't know that much about her..."

"Is she usually anti-social?"

Rahne laughed, a deep throaty chuckle, and tossed her head, making the golden hoops in her ears swing lightly. "Warren, anti-social is Tris' middle name. She never goes out, and doesn't talk to much of anyone except Jubilee, Kitty, and Logan on a regular basis. After she broke up with her boyfriend, she never made a single move towards any other guy here. Most of her free time she's either off in the woods somewhere, locked up in her room, or in the Danger Room. Killer sense of humor when she says anything at meals, which isn't often. Honestly, before today, I haven't spoken more than a few words to her, she's more friends with her team than mine. Remy, Rogue, Logan, Scott, even Jean to a certain extent. She's my age, just about nineteen, but she was already done with high school when she got here at sixteen. It's a general rumor that she takes online college classes, but nobody I've talked to knows for sure."

She shrugged helplessly. "She's a ghost around the corridors. I came down here one night, and she's sitting in the kitchen doing yoga and cooking oatmeal. At three in the morning! I dunno..." Wolfsbane looked away, obviously unsure of whether or not to say something. She turned back to Warren uncertainly. "It's like - well, like that movie, can't remember what it is - where they say the main character is waiting for the bottom to fall out? She's like that. Never getting close to anyone except for Logan and Piotr, and when Piotr left, she just quit trying. Eh, that sounds dumb."

"No, it sounds...thoughtful. Like you thought this out."

Rahne shrugged again at his words. "Nearly everyone's talked about Tris at one time or another. She's a powerful mutant, on the senior team years before the rest of us are allowed, but she never comes home after a mission and talks about it in the kitchen like everyone else. We, all the older one's of us at least, get together and talk with the team after missions. Sort of like a giant group therapy session. And Tris is just, never there. Piotr would always be there, but she never was. Odd things like that make people talk about you." Rahne snorted, almost a barking sound, and delicately ate a cracker from the plate Tris had brought them. Warren draped an arm over the back of the couch and lapsed into a frown as he thought.

"You like her, don't you?"

"I..uh?"

_Saved by an angel in the guise of a frog _Warren thought in relief when Dust's boyfriend came over and claimed Rahne for a story he wanted her to tell. Warren smiled absently as she left, but remained on the couch thinking. After a few minutes he stood, checking around nervously for Logan before pushing through the crush and upstairs. Knocking quietly on the green door, Warren glanced up and down the bare corridor, listening to the bustle of the crowd downstairs.

"Come in."

Her voice sounded drowsy. Pushing the door open, Warren stood in the hallway.

"Tris?"

Her back was to him, partially curled on the colorful bed, wrapped in a red and blue quilt. He saw the quilt tighten, then distort as Tris sat hurriedly up, pulling herself into some semblance of order before turning around to smile at him.

"Hey. Everything going okay?"

"Um. Yeah, everything's fine. Thanks for introducing me around."

"Sure."

This conversation wasn't going anywhere Warren wanted it to. He cast around for something to say, and decided honesty was the best policy. "I need to talk to you." Tris looked down, tucking her feet under herself and folding the blanket gently over her lap, smoothing the fabric in a distracted manner. "Sure. Have a seat?" The last was more of a question than an invitation as she motioned towards the foot of the bed, where a long chest lay covered with a cushion. Warren shut the door behind him, completely locking out the sounds. Running one hand through his hair, he walked towards the chest, then skived off at the last second to join her on the bed. Tris briefly raised an eyebrow, but smiled at him encouragingly.

"What's the problem?"

She retracted her legs out from under her and tucked them up under her chin. Her cat-like qualities magnified as she continued to enfold down upon herself until she was curled tightly on the counterpane, still smiling as she lay down. She flicked an errant strand of hair out of her face and inquired, "Warren? Are you alright?"

_No, I'm bloody well not alright. You're confusing me so much I feel like either my brain or my body is going to explode, possibly both at once!_

"Yes... well, no. Actually, I'm a little confused." Warren stood again, uneasy on the bed. Tris peered up at him. He turned away, then turned back, aware he looked like a fool but unable to find any other way of steeling himself up. "You kissed me last night. But then, today, you avoid me."

"Warren." Tris had sat back upright. "I haven't been avoiding you. We walked together this morning. I've been introducing you around all afternoon."

Warren, flustered, sat back down, stood, then finally decided on his position and sank into the mattress. "I don't mean avoiding me physically. I mean you, your," he cast around for the right word, settling for the obvious, "your mind is avoiding me. Ignoring me, more like. I wondered, should I apologize."

"For what?"

She wasn't making this any easier. "For kissing you."

"No."

"Um..." Warren was searching frantically for something to say. Tris raised an eyebrow. He raised one back, trying to stall for time. After a moment of glaring at each other, Tris suddenly changed her tune with a giggle. "Oh, fine, I know what you're trying to say. And I kissed you, if you remember correctly." Warren kept his eyebrow raised, though his mouth was out of his control and smirking. Tris moved so fast he didn't have time to duck before a soft pillow connected with his face.

"Ooof!"

Tris was laughing as Warren extracted himself and glared at her again. She tried to school her features into something a little more decorous, turned red, and finally yelped in an outburst of humor and fell backwards off the bed. Warren lunged forwards in an automatic response, reminded by her mannerisms oddly enough for the first time of the first night he'd met her - younger, or perhaps more youthful was the right wording - without the worries. Peering over the edge of the high mattress on his stomach for any trace of the room's occupant, the mutant was unprepared for Tris to appear on the other side of the bed and start to tickle his bare feet.

Warren smirked again and looked back over his shoulder. His feet, impervious to Tris' now desperate ploys, remained stubbornly still. Defeated, she gave up and climbed on the mattress next to him. "Not ticklish?"

Warren shook his head, still smiling. "You might say I was immunized at an early age." He rustled his wings suggestively. Tris caught the implication instantly.

"That's just not fair."

Warren had a sudden thought. "I don't suppose... you wouldn't happen to be..?" Tris looked shocked for a moment, then laughed. "Ticklish? That doesn't even begin to describe my affliction." His mouth curving in a sly smile, Warren sat up. "You know, you really shouldn't spread information like that around." Tris hardly had time to look thoughtful before he had her trapped between him and the headboard, one hand on either side of her ribs. His wings instinctively spread out to curve around them, cutting off all methods of escape. Intending to tickle her into submission, he instantly released his prey when her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in a predatory aggression. He felt a shove against his chest, though Tris remained still, and backed away. Unsure of what had happened, Warren held his hands palm outward in a calming gesture.

"Tris?"

Her pupils, dilated for that split second, contracted again as she focused on him. "Sorry. Just surprised me, is all. I'm not used to being pinning and tickled." She grinned, then repeated his lunge, landing surprisingly softly against his chest before rebounding off the bed again, then reappearing behind him before he had time to react. Wrapping her arms around his chest, just under his arms, she whispered in his ear.

"Gotcha."

Warren, trying to move his arm to reach around and pluck her off his back, found himself frozen in a vise. Struggling fruitlessly, he finally gave up. "That's not fair."

"Life's not fair."

Warren's euphoria at Tris' shameless flirting and resuming of her former gaiety leaked away. "No, it's not."

Tris released him and slid around back to the head of the bed, leaving him kneeling on the soft mattress at the foot. Her body was almost obscenely flexible and smooth in its movements. "So, you came in here to apologize for kissing me, and ended up trying to 'tickle me into submission'. Fie, Mr. Warren, Angel of the x-men."

Warren tried to remember if he had expressed his thoughts when attacking her ribs, then remembered her mutation of telepathy combined with touch empathy had likely plucked that wording from his mind. He had become accustomed to the idea that he was only safe from the random rummaging of telepaths through his thoughts by said telepaths sense of honor, along with the unexpected trait of shielding he had, but seeing others use mutations without even meaning to was humbling in some unconscious way. Then Tris' words clicked in his brain.

"Angel?"

Tris grinned, crinkling her nose, looking again like the young woman he had first been attracted to. "Well, you must admit the resemblance is there. Blond, big white wings, pale blue eyes... and you do need a team name." Warren shrugged. Angel was better than some names he could have thought of for a code name. In fact, he rather liked it. Taking the conversation back into calmer and less physical realms, he inquired, "How did you get your name?"

xXx

How did I get my name?

An accident. A double meaning for a double life.

"I don't know, really. It just happened. Telepaths and empaths are often called 'paths, then that turned into Path, and before long that's how everyone referred to me."

Warren looked confused. "Then why not Kinetic?"

I smiled again, humor restored. "I always get this image of a golf-ball when I hear the word kinetic. One of my teachers used a golf-ball to discuss kinetic energy." I answered his questioning look with the second sentence, then pushed by a need to be honest, I continued. My voice lowered without my express consent to a mumble that Warren somehow managed to catch. "Besides, the idea of my name being Path, like a path I could follow - the double meaning appealed to me."

We sat for a few minutes, looking at everything in the room except each other. An uncomfortable silence falls. I know I'm feeling embarrassed at my earlier actions, and really don't feel like scanning him to see what he's so quiet about - jumping on Warren wasn't precisely in my earlier plans, though it **was **fun. And freezing him with a kinetic cage wasn't terribly mature either. I can honestly say I'm not upset about shoving him away - that wasn't something I could help. I love to cuddle, and my personal space is practically non-existent, but his tickle-lunge was too much like an attack for the more basic part of my brain.

Warren suddenly stretched out a wing, rotating it. I watched from the corner of my eye in fascination. I have to admit, his wings are a mutation I am almost envious of. What it must be like to fly! The silence disintegrates in the sound of my name.

"Tris?"

"Yeah?"

"I have some movies that came with my stuff. Would you like to find something to watch tonight?"

Does this count enough to make my plan overturn? Is he showing marked interest, or just being friendly? Not for the first time, I wish his shields weren't quite so tight. Warren stretches the other wing, mimicking his earlier motions, and still not looking at me. "What kind of movies?"

"A little of everything. Not right now, but later."

I decide that even if I have to exert extreme self-control, I would still enjoy another night on the couch. "Sure. But nothing too long this time." I yawn for partial effect, and he smile, examining a primary with his finger. "And it either has to be PG-13, or we watch it in a room. Professor's rules when the school is open."

"Works. See you at six in my room?"

"Kay."

Warren stands, and walks over to the door, wings tucked firmly back again. In the doorway, he turns, and looks back at me. Opening his mouth, then smiling, he retreats, leaving his thought unsaid. Slumping down on the covers, I rub my eyes. I need to think some more. Four hours 'till the movie.

Yeah! Next installment is finished! Sorry for not updating sooner, but I just got the bill for my class books, and OHMYGOD! I think I'm broke for the next ten years. At least. Those of you in college classes will appreciate my state of severe depression the last couple of days as I face starvation in the cause of education. sigh oh well, hope you liked it - and please review! I know you guys are reading this, so any and all opinions are appreciated - plus I could really use some warm fuzzy feelings right now. Be Kat


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **That's right, I'm coming out and telling the world that I have purchased full rights to the x-men, and as such am giving all fanfic writers full rein! Whoops, my imagination is getting the better of me again.

**Summery: **This chapter takes place a few months after chapter ten. What happened in between you ask? Well, nothing much. No more smooches, nothing very funny, and school finals. Just an increasing amount of unhealthy UST. See why I skipped it now? TemperPedic by the way makes the most heavenly mattresses in existence. This is the chapter where my M rating begins to come into play, so if you're under sixteen, or get easily offended by blatant reference to sex, don't read any further. This is very likely not going to be the most explicit chapter in the story, so - I'm warning you now. Otherwise, enjoy!

**Chapter Eleven**

"You're hogging the bed _and _me again. Budge over."

Honestly, I think I might as well be married to the man for all the ordering around he tries. However, I'm unusually comfortable, which is saying something considering if I had a choice between Warren and a TemperPedic, I would choose Warren every time. So I let out a little purr of a sigh and snuggle further into his warmth. I'm in quite the mood tonight - no doubt due to the fact that yesterday, just about every student left for home. The mansion is resoundingly quiet, both in the realms of telepathic and audio hearing. And after a long Danger Room exercise, during which Logan pronounced me and Warren 'a good fit', I'm too lazy and happy to move. Slitting my eyes open in the darkened room, I examine the cool blue tones Warren used to decorate the oddly sterile apartments. The formerly oaken bedstead has been replaced with an equally large but slightly less comfortable flat bed.

"Don't try that on me."

I purr-sigh again, and Warren stops resisting my presence. I found that he had a soft spot for purring when we started our every other night movie sprees. Tonight was my turn to choose first, so the delectable Johnny Depp drives my team mate insane with - well, I've really never figured out why, I can only assume it's a good-looking guy seeing compation. I squidge my eyes shut again as dear Johnny drives a pair of scissors into his ex-wife's leg and shudder slightly. Warren sighs.

"Why are we watching this if you don't want to watch it?"

I untangle that statement out, and answer still burrowed into his side. "I like the movie; it's just that I know what that feels like. Ugh." I shiver again. Warren pets my hair, a mannerism he seems to instinctively do when I say something about my past. Turning back, I watch the last bit of the movie with relish, cheering my favorite actor on as he takes care of the evil boyfriend, and then pretending to fall mysteriously asleep when it comes time to take the DVD out of the player.

"Tris, nice try. You're the one with the kinetic stuff."

I remain frozen and limp against his side. This might be juvenile, but I enjoy it all the same. Feeling his muscles shift beneath me, I try to cling to him just a little longer, with no effect. His strong arms heave me off of his stomach and unceremoniously onto the rest of the bed, where I retaliate by taking the DVD out and snapping it into the case just before he gets to the TV. Bundling up in the quilt again, I wait for Warren to peruse our combined stock on his shelf. After having to watch _The Secret Window_, he will probably make me watch something horrifically romantic. Our sense of romanticism is very different; I like the sneaky best friend kind - which **naturally** has nothing to do with the fact that Warren has become my best friend - while he is much more for roses and stars.

Glancing at the clock, I turn up the lights without thinking to see the display. My telepathic and telekinetic prowess have grown the last few months in an exponential manner, a fact which I attribute to Warren's calming influence, not to mention the extra practice in the Danger Room. Logan finally quit growling every time he walked by our door when we're watching movies, though he still looks like he wants to murder my team mate for sitting next to me at breakfast, taking an in-depth sniff before passing us. Whether I can attribute that to the fact he now dogs Rogue's every step in case she decides to have the baby without his protection from her 'lecherous' husband doesn't really matter - though I hardly think Xavier takes that view considering the damage to the kitchen, the rec room, the Danger Room, and the freezer stock on the eve of Logan's discovery. I thought it was only women who ate ridiculous amounts of ice cream when they received bad news, a myth which Wolverine dispelled when I tried to pry him from his sixth tub of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia. It's a good thing that man has an amazing constitution, or he would be in a diabetic coma by now.

Warren's weight added to mine makes the overworked springs creak slightly as he sits carefully beside me, arranging his right wing over the assorted pillows and allowing the left to hang off the bed. I prop a pillow against him this time, determined to stay awake through his movie as a thanks for enduring through mine. "What're we watching?"

"It's called _City of Angels_. Ever heard of it?"

I frown in thought, then shake my head pensively. "Can't think if I have."

"You'll like it." I snort in derision. "Sorry luv," I notice with amusement the eyebrow twitch at the endearment, "but you thought I'd like _While You Were Sleeping _too."

"My mistake. It was too happy without any gore to make up for it. This one's depressing."

I resist the urge to smack him and instead poke his bare and well-defined ribs. I really do need to stop thinking like that. "I do so like happy ungory movies."

"Name one." Warren's blue eyes are challenging me. I sit up, and start counting off on my fingers the movies we've seen that are happy. "_Lord of the Rings_..."

"Gory."

"_Van Helsing..."_

"Not happy. Hot chick dies, remember?" He earns another poke for that as I rapidly name the rest. "_Chocolat, Elizabethtown, _and...um... _Andy Griffith_!" He can't say those weren't happy. His smile concedes my point. That's something I love about Warren - he's willing to let an argument go if he can be proved wrong. Unlike me, a bulldog with a bone when the words start flying. Ignoring the opening music, I let my eyes drop to his lips on pretext of fixing the pillow. Warren hasn't evinced any interest in me beyond the platonic since our kiss so long ago, and I've done my best to hide my desire for a repeat. I finally gave in a few weeks after school started again, and admitted to myself I've fallen for another team mate. Still, I think encouragingly leaning back against my human and down pillows, at least he hasn't cast his net out for other women in the mansion, or outside it for all I've heard. I still don't go out clubbing or to dinner when I can help it. The possessive behavior that would likely come to the fore at the sight of Warren dancing with another female is not something I can afford.

Turning on my side horizontal to the blond, I shove the pillow down so my head is against his skin and tuck an arm around his waist. The feel of his ever so slightly increased heart beat against the smoothly muscled chest wall next to my ear encourages me more than it should. I try to reason that any female snuggling up with any male when they are both of an age, especially bare skin to bare skin on a bed, is likely to create a response in both. Perhaps it is rather that Warren allows my continued presence glued against his side that leads me to believe he has feelings. Whatever the reason, I feel secure and wanted when resting against the side of my team mate with his arm draped over my side and shoulders, his hand occasionally tweaking a bit of hair or playing with my earring during the movie. I've taken to wearing long dangly earrings to our tête-à-têtes just so I can feel him twiddle with them absently. Pathetic perhaps, but tonight his fingers instantly start to play with the long gold chains and tiny pink imitation pearls I'm wearing. I fist my hand ever so slightly when he tugs a little on the pearl at the end of a chain, no doubt entirely by accident. I wish beyond all doubt that it was his teeth doing that.

See what I mean? The poor guy is lucky I haven't jumped him out of sheer sexual frustration. It's just as good that I've learned to shield during the night or else he would be picking up some semi-graphic dreams. I don't think I could look him in the face if his empathy got half the emotions I have running through my brain at night.

I grit my teeth as he tugs again, not painfully, but still noticeable to my sensitive earlobe. Maybe the earrings were a bad idea after all. Trying to pay attention to the movie, I inhale a little too deeply when he shifts and the arm on my side moves to rest his elbow on the thin line of bare skin between my shirt and jeans. I'm tied in knots already, and the movie's barely started. Warren's hand stops fiddling with the pearls and grips my bare shoulder gently. Since bruising my wrist, he treats me like I'm made of spun glass outside the Danger Room. It's a nice change, I have to admit.

"Tris, you mind turning off the lights?"

"Mmm? Sure."

As the lights flick off his callused palm shifts down my arm, catching on my skin a little, in a caress before returning to the earrings. He must really like this pair, it usually takes a distracting part of the movie for him to start the fondling.

"Thanks."

"No problem." Oh, yes, do that again. I berate myself as he seems to hear my command and drops a chain to brush against my neck before scooping it up again. Stop drooling Tris, pay attention to the movie.

"You know, I lived in L.A. for a few months." The obligatory stroke to my hair before returning once again to the pearls. He must be making up for lost time, as I had my hair over them during the last movie. "Didn't see a single angel."

"I wasn't in town at the time."

Warren announced his code name as Angel only a few days after I called him that, a move which made me want to explode with joy. I smile in the dark, and watch as Nicholas Cage meets Meg Ryan. "So Cage is an angel?"

"Mmhm." Amazing how he manages to combine two emotions into one nonsense sound. That particular noise sounded like an assent and a plea for silence rolled together. I oblige and try to ignore the dropping of another chain onto my neck. This time he doesn't pick it back up, but rather flicks it back and forth slowly. I shift slightly against him and close my eyes. Imagining that we are on the bed, and he suddenly drops his head to claim my mouth, moving his hand the few inches from my neck to touch the smooth skin of my throat, forcing my head upwards towards his...

"Tris, you okay?" Damn, can't I even fantasize about him touching me if he won't actually do it? "Fine." One word is about all I can manage right now. I'm embarrassed to say that this latest turn in my imagining has gotten me more than somewhat aroused. I hope the darkness will hide the flush I feel creeping up my neck. I return to watching.

An hour later, and I feel like writhing. Not only has the frustrating overgrown pigeon decided to continue experimenting how to drive me absolutely insane using my earrings, he has loosely wrapped his hand around mine, linking our fingers. All without looking at me or even appearing to notice his actions. If I wasn't driven mad with wanting him, I could almost hate him. And then a sex scene comes on. Not a particularly graphic one, but still. I close my eyes, and try to ignore the now familiar feeling of lust and a lingering feeling of despair that runs rampage over my body and mind. At least us women can hide this sort of thing without embarrassing physical manifestations, though my promise not to attack my team mate is wearing closer to a thread every second.

wWw

Warren didn't know what to do. He was doing everything he could to make Tris respond to him in some way; even a 'bugger off' would be better than nothing at this point, and all she did was fall asleep. He had thought perhaps she was finally breaking when he felt her body tremble slightly after he started to caress the slim neck with her handily long earrings, but after that she hadn't shown any other signs of interest in what he was doing. Maybe it would just be easier to ask her out on a date rather than try to slowly and unsuccessfully seduce her.

Looking circumstantly down at the dark lashes laying flush against her cheek, Warren finally took a chance and rubbed his thumb against her wrist. Dark eyes instantly snapped open as she turned her head at what looked to be an uncomfortable angle and looked up at him. "Movie's over."

Tris sat up, rubbing her neck, then stretched. Warren watched her body from the corner of his eye, knowing the play of muscles well from watching this display before. First the shoulders, switch ends and start working up from the toes, tensing every muscle until - his favorite part - she arched her back and neck with a sigh before standing. Standing was put off however as she snuggled back against his side, pulling her knees up until they touched his lean hips. Warren pinched himself. Thus far the small measures of pain worked well enough to distract himself from the demands of certain body regions. Think of disgusting things. Baby birds, maggots, Toad's slime, Wolverine in a thong... yup, that one always works like a charm.

"Tris, you should be getting back to your room so I can get some sleep." Warren reflected that he wouldn't mind sleeping next to her, his body curved against hers. He had an uncanny feeling, proved by their movie sessions, that they would fit together very well. Of course, whatever they might get up to before the sleeping next to each other was bound to be pleasant as well. Wolverine in a thong, just think about Wolverine in a thong...

"Warren?"

"Yes?"

"Feel like making cookies?"

Warren blinked. Did Tris just ask him if he felt like making cookies? At eleven-thirty, she wanted to make _cookies_? "Now?"

"Yeah. I'm going to, thought you might want to join in."

Warren was generally willing to put up with almost anything to spend more time alone with Tris, but baking in the wee hours of the morning was a little much even for him. "Don't you ever sleep?"

Tris turned on her back to look up at him. The dim lighting turned up a little as she flipped the bathroom switch. "Not when I can help it."

Warren remembered the times when he was woken up by the sounds of doors slamming at two or three in the morning, followed by lights on his team mate's balcony. "Nightmares?" Tris shrugged, obviously not interested in pursuing the subject, and turned on her side again before sitting upright with a suddenness that startled him. "Mind if I borrow some socks? I'm out, and the tiles in the kitchen floor are a little cold."

Warren nodded, knowing she could see him from where she stood at the bathroom entrance. "I have a bathrobe in the bathroom. Never used it, so you can take it. I've been meaning to give it to someone else anyway." His reasons for not wearing a bathrobe were obvious in the wings spread beside him, one still warm from the heat radiating off of Tris' body. Warren, unable to wear anything above the waist, or even pull the covers up farther than mid-back, kept his room warmer than the wall tones might indicate. Tris smiled before disappearing into the bathroom, coming out wearing the dark blue robe tied loosely around her waist, the edge nearly touching the ground on her smaller stature. A pair of his socks covered her much smaller feet, the tops reaching nearly to her knees. Hair tied up with curls springing out untidily, Warren nevertheless thought she looked, as usual, stunning. Noticing his stare, Tris tucked a piece of hair up and laughed. "I must look a sight. See you in the morning, and thanks for the robe and socks. I'm washing tomorrow, so I can return them then if you don't mind."

"No, that's fine. I'll turn in now, pretty tired."

"Kay. Good-night."

Tris walked towards the door, the unusual toe-first gait allowing her to slink to the door smoothly. Warren flipped over onto his stomach, punching the pillow into shape before planting his face into it with a muffled "Whooff!"

"Night, Warren _aroon_."

Warren brought his head out the pillow so fast his neck cricked, but only the closed door greeted his disappointed gaze. He groaned in exasperation and smacked his head back into the pillow. What had she called him? Around? No, it sounded like aroon, but that wasn't a word.

Rolling over, Warren knew it was going to be a long, long, night.

So, you like? A little short, and a little fluffy, but I still want to hear your opinions!


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **Marvel had given me full rights to the x-men, so long as I pay for all phyciatry bills afterwards - whether these bills are for me, the x-men, or Marvel staff has not yet been discussed

**Summery: **Alright, I apologize ahead of time - this chapter was written under the influence of Dreyers Cherry and Vanilla ice cream, followed by a stiff slug of Choco Turkey. (For the poor unititated, this is a double rich hot chocolate with cinnamon, kudzu powder, nutmeg, and a tablespoon of Wild Turkey whiskey. Perfect with ice cream). Thanks to so many reviews and readers – 1056 as of now!

**Chapter Twelve**

A puff of white powder disperses in the surrounding air as I tap the measuring cup lightly against my mixing bowl. My sensitive nose twitches at the irritating dust, and I sniff as I rub my nose. Hope I'm not coming down with that horrible bronchitis Scott had last week. Poor Scott, he always gets a chest cold this time of year. Thus far I've been as fortunate as Logan in staying away from the usual school bugs, but it would be my luck to get something now.

"Turn on some lights darlin', 'fore you go blind."

I manage to control my start to a mere twitch. I hate it when Logan and his adamantium shields sneak up on me. I obligingly flick the light switch and turn to find Wolverine standing next to the frig. He blinks blearily as his eyes adjust to the sudden change in light, then disappears into the steel icebox. Remerging with an amber bottle, he raises an eyebrow and twists the lid off with a partially extended claw. I watch bemused as he throws his head back, drinking the beer smoothly before wiping his mouth and setting the glass down with a light clink. Eyeing me, his previously fatherly expression becomes more predatory.

"What're you wearin'?"

Logan growls the words out like he's in physical pain. I shrug and crack an egg against the glass bowl in front of me and start to mix the thick concoction slowly. "I borrowed Warren's robe. Not like he can use it. 'Sides, I think I might be coming down with something and wanted to stay warm." Pretending indifference, nonetheless I slam the cookie tray down a little too hard on the counter. Who is Logan, womanizer of the century even though he is in love with a beautiful mutant who is more than kindly disposed towards him - who is he to tell me who I may or may not spend my time with?

"Logan, Warren and I are team mates. We work together in an intimate environment. We happen to have become friends. The only thing that is keeping me from relaxing completely in his presence is the fact that you are acting like he's like Piotr. And he's not."

"Jubilee says you had bruises. On yer wrist."

"Jubilee was right. However, I'd like you to look at this." I slide the robe off, leaving it in a heap around my feet. I haven't been this angry in years. The most important person in my life, my truest and best friend, my father, and he has to try and ruin what happiness I can find. Pulling the shoulder strap of my bra down, I show him the purple egg-sized bruise on the very top of my right breast. Watching his goggle look, I slip the strap back up and stand in the drafty kitchen, well aware that I'm only wearing a bra and boxers under the robe. The rest of my clothes are in Warren's hamper. Suppressing a shiver and clenching my jaw, I tell my body to wait a few more minutes and the warm robe can go back on. Logan regains his voice slightly hoarser than before.

"Fuck. He do tha'? 'Cause I'll kill him, I will if'n the bastard did tha'."

I pull my trump card. Crossing my arms over half-exposed breast, covering the top of the bruise, I lean a hip on the counter, grateful for my height for the first time in many years. Speaking slowly, I throw the metaphorical wrench into the works. "No, actually, that was you yesterday at the pool. When you grabbed me and threw me in."

Logan's hand comes up of it's own accord and reaches out to my shoulder. I jerk away. Dropping the hand, Wolverine looks the saddest I've ever seen him. "God, I mean... fuck. I'm so sorry Tris, I didn't know." I move slightly, hoping to hide my goosebumps.

"Logan, look at me."

The large blue eyes meet mine, brown flecks invisible in the electric lighting. "I know you didn't mean to. I bruise easily. I always have. Just because you hurt me doesn't mean you Hurt me." I hope he can hear the capital in my tone. His eyes have become thoughtful.

"You're tellin' me to leave flyboy alone."

"I want to you to like him. I'm not telling you anything." I grin, hoping to break the mood. "Do I look stupid? Last time Sabertooth told you to do something, he went through a brick wall attached to your claws."

Logan, for the first time since I've met him, looks uncertain, almost scared. "Tris, you're ... you're my daughter I never ha'. I don' wan' y' hurt."

I whisper, closing my eyes against the tears welling up. "I know." I've never heard my surrogate father talk like this, so truthful and real. Smiling, I hold out a hand. "Family?"

Logan takes the proffered hand, pulling me into an embrace against his broad chest, robe still tangled at my feet. "Love ya, darlin'."

"I love you too." Turning my head, I plant a small kiss on Logan's muttonchop. Giggling, I hug him tighter. "You're all scratchy." Logan pretends masculine vanity and pulls ever so slightly away. "Me? Scratchy? Why, you know to talk to me more respec'ful than tha'." Resting our foreheads together, I smile and rub my nose against his. He growls.

"Ooooh, I'm so afraid of the big bad Wolverine."

"Darlin' you should be."

"Tris, I came to se...Tris?" Pulling away from Logan, I see Warren standing in the doorway. His eyes drop down my body, and he blushes before coughs, looking pointedly at my feet. Following his gaze, I realize I'm still mostly naked. Gathering the robe up to my neck with a smooth telekinetic pull, I re-tie the belt. Logan bumps his lips against the top of my head in what passes for a company kiss from him and stalks out. Warren just has time to turn towards me before Wolverine reappears in the doorway.

"Warren."

It's the first time I've heard Logan address my partner by his name. Warren turns warily, ready for another cold shoulder. "Yes?"

"You wan' a beer, help yourself."

Logan's fuzzy hair disappears around the corner, and I hear his door slam behind him. Squealing, I throw myself across the kitchen, attacking Warren and wrapping myself around his middle, head tucked against the bare chest.

"Welcome to the family. You have just met pappa Wolverine. I'm sissy Tris." Releasing him, I turn back to cookies, happier than I've been in a long time. Warren follows me, his bare feet padding softly on the tile floor.

"Welcome to the family?" I nod and smile up at him. His blond hair is even messier than usual. "Logan only offers his beer to a few people. It's like being initiated into a select club. A club where only you, Logan, me, Rogue, Hank, Kurt, and Storm can attend."

"So this means I'm bro Warren now?"

I smack another egg into the mix with abandon and add a handful of butterscotch chips. Not very sanitary, but an effective measurement. "If you want."

"So does this mean I can't ask you out to dinner sometime?"

I drop an egg from nerveless fingers. Did Warren Worthington (the third I might add, good stock obviously), most gorgeous single mutant in the school, just ask me, plain Path, on a date?

"No, Angel, with no numbers, just asked beautiful Tris to be his date."

I realize with a heated blush than I just either spoke aloud or broadcast my question to everyone within a few miles. I almost hope it was aloud. "Um...yes. Sure." Lord, if this is a dream I'm burning my Bible in retribution for your cruel and unusual punishment.

"Sure?"

Warren sounded astonished. I turned towards him, pulling a face as I added some nutmeg to the bowl in my arms. "Yeah, sure. As in yes. But no more _City of Angels_." I waggle the spatula at him. I'm so flabbergasted I can barely think. I'm going out with Warren. **I'm **going out with Warren. I'm **going out **with **Warren**! It just sounds better and better the more I emphasize the words. Just then, a stray thread of thought catches my attention.

_::Amazing, she didn't kill me, can I kiss her now? Would Wolverine smell it and decide to kill me after all?::_

"Here, hold this for me." I may have just accepted a dinner invitation with the man of my dreams, but that doesn't mean I'm going to jump into a physical relationship. Time enough for that later. Handing the baggie of chocolate chips to Warren, I finish stirring and roll up my sleeves. Or rather, Warren's sleeves that I happen to be wearing.

**I'm _going out _**with **Warren**!

"You want help with that?" He puts the baggie down and dips into the mixing bowl. I lightly smack him before he reaches the batter. "Spray your hands first, otherwise you'll have oatmeal and flour sticking everywhere. The Pam's over there." I nod towards the tall spray can of grease. Warren obligingly squirts the oily mixture onto his hands before starting to roll the cookie mix into balls.

"So, you're sure?"

"Well, I think I added a little too much cinnamon, but other than that, they should turn out."

I turn to see the blue eyes rolling. "No, I meant about dinner." I can't help it, the corner of my mouth creeps upward at the impatience in his voice. "I'm sure." Swiftly changing the subject, I point towards the oven. "Can you turn that to 375?" Turning my back, I add another evenly sized dollop of dough onto the cookie sheet.

"Yeah, alright..."

Setting aside the second sheet of twelve gooey balls, I start on my third and last set. I could hear the rustling sound he always made, along with quiet footsteps, as Angel walked to the oven and turned it on. An irritating six beeps later, the fan came on with a slight clunk before humming into action. By then, between a combination of telekenesis and my own hands, I've filled the last sheet minus one ball. Warren sweeps the pans into the oven before I can protest and sets the timer to automatically turn off the machine when done.

"What does aroon mean?"

"Hmmm?" I pause. "Oh, I didn't think you heard that. It means darling in Gaelic. Heard Rahne use it on Bobby." I smash my hip into the corner of the counter, thinking intently on the vagarities of the mansion youth. Bobby immediately became intimate with Rahne, while Kitty consoled herself with the older Kurt after a brief and fruitless attempt to interest Warren. Neither seemed particularly emotionally distraught after that first night. I've alternated between believing they didn't really care for each other and thinking that perhaps Jean might have 'altered' a few facts about the past in their memories. Given the way the Professor glared at her for several weeks, I'm inclined towards the latter more and more.

"What?"

Lost in my own musings, I missed Warren's next sentence.

"I said, how does Friday sound?"

I smile and reach out to Warren. He has a glob of dough on his earlobe, no idea how it got there. Wiping it carefully off, I wash my hands yet again before answering. "Sounds fine. Scott'll probably let us borrow the car, or we can fly." Practice in the Danger Room has shown me that Warren wasn't exaggerating his ability to carry me while flying.

"Flying sounds good."

An awkward silence falls as I wash the final spatula and bowls, setting them on the counter. Tomorrow is Bobby and Storm's day for drying dishes. Flicking a glance towards my hitherto confident partner, I decide to break the ice swiftly, and then retreat. Slowly hanging the dishrag back up next to his thin form, I lean against the bare chest for a moment before slipping my arms around his waist and cuddling my forehead into the hollow of his neck. Warren's hands, formerly clutching the countertop edge, tentatively reach around me as I feel the stubbled chin rest in the nest of my disheveled hair. Inhaling and closing my eyes, I relax in the warmth and smell of him, one hand absently stroking a feather. Hearing a light scratching sound, much the same as when fingers are drawn across silk, I open my eyes to see his wings enfolding us. Pulling back regretfully, I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Night. See you tommorrow."

Warren looks resigned rather than angry or surprised. "Night. You want me to stay up with the cookies?"

I shake my head. "Naw, The oven'll take care of them. I used plenty of Pa.."

"Tris, Warren. Get in your uniforms now."

Yes, a cliffie. I'm very sorry, I have a serious case of writer's block about the up-coming fighting and need to commune with my fighting muse Jonathon Jobes (aka my personal Remy). I'll have the next chapter up soon.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **I bought Marvel on E-bay - take that, Histerygurl!! (My main competitor in the purchase of all things x-men) and now can do whatever I want with all those oh-so-wonderful mutants! Mwehehehe giggles evilly

**Summery: **Sorry I took so long to update. One of my friends at school was recently killed in a car accident, so I've been a blue funk of nightmares and unheard apologies for the last month. I still want to shoot the bastard who was speeding through an intersection. Enough on my little tragedies, here's the chapter for ya – I'm afraid it reflects my mood, but was starting to get itchy fingers to write SOMETHING for you, sooooo…Chapter Fourteen may take some time, please R and R, notes to wonderful reviewers at the bottom! Oh, and if you check AFF in a few days, I have an …hmmm… interesting way that kitchen scene could have turned out if Jean hadn't stuck her nose in. I'm under the username BeTrisKat.

**Chapter Thirteen**

Jean is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching us skeptically with a faint gleam of panic shading the green eyes. Scott behind her looks frighteningly awake for so late, a sure sign of an emergency. Both are still in their nightwear, Scott casual in a pair of plain boxers and beefy T, Jean mismatched in an oversized t-shirt that leaves her long legs exposed. Warren advances slowly up to my position, stopping just to my left. I can feel the body heat radiating off his naked flesh.

"What happened?" My sensitive ears hear the slightest of tremors in the tenor voice. Scott disappears, calling for Logan. The calm of impending battle settles over me like a protective mantle, every sound and sight growing in intensity and clarity.

Jean drops our uniforms out of thin air onto the counter. "Emergency. Mystique's got some ex-friend of the Professor's pinned down in Reno. Non-mutant, name of Harvey Jobes."

Tossing Warren's chest piece and pants to him, I hold Path's supple black bodysuit against my chest, smelling the faintest of scents that indicates where Jean got it from. Only items fresh from the washer smell so strongly of detergent. I finger the material, nodding to myself as I note the slight dampness. She must have just gotten the signal, barely in time to grab the uniforms from our laundry load. Warren is already snapping his 'broach' as I teasingly call it to the center of the thick black straps crossing his chest. Trotting down the hall, I scramble haphazardly into my uniform, tying dark hair back into a controlled braid, then winding it up to a bun. I shake my head to test the strength of the hairstyle, nearly running into Dr. McCoy as he rumbles past. The floorboards quiver under his heavy frame, an IV hanging precariously in the crook of an enormous furred elbow.

"Tris, get Warren over here. We've got Kitty and Kurt already, Bobby's staying here with Rogue."

Jean stands in front of the Blackbird, her hair under the trademark green band. Warren nearly bowls me over as he rushes past to the jet. Passing Jean in the open doorway, Angel turns and beckons me, blond hair blowing as the engines start. The thought inanely crosses my mind that his will be my first mission back on the team since I was dismissed for emotional instability.

"C'mon Tris!"

Reaching down, my partner grabs my wrist and helps me up the ramp before Jean closes the doors with a pneumatic hiss. Collapsing onto a seat and buckling myself in, I look around. The x-team are all here, Warren an accepted figure now, blending into the crowd with his black and electric blue uniform among the brightly colored outfits. Looking down at myself in head to toe black, I realize with a shock what I must look like among my fellows in their tropical bird-like colors.

I am Death, yet not alone in my oddity. My partner an angel, my friend's husband a devil, my father an animal, my father's friends are beasts. I live with children who could level a city or heal cancer with a thought. All because of the single small change in our fundamental make-up, an infinitesimal change in invisible components.

We are mutants. We are the x-men. And nobody can take that from us.

"Tris, are you okay? You look strange."

Warren is watching my eyes, buckled into the seat next to me. Behind him, I see Kitty smile sadly, albeit knowingly. She once asked me that exact question, receiving an answer beyond her understanding. The same instinct that makes me calm, collected, and lucid during a mission also removes most human emotions. I stare blankly at the worried face of my partner and answer without guile.

"I'm going to kill someone tonight, you know. I can always tell. One of the people we meet tonight will die because I kill them."

Warren keeps the eye contact, a strength in his slight frame I've never noticed before. His gaze holds pity, but understanding. "I'm here to help you." His offer holds everything in those words - love, support, and a willingness to do whatever I need him to do.

With that sentence, he looks away. I remember his question tonight, and wonder if we will make it to the date on Friday night. If I am the only one to get back on the jet this morning, after we finish rescuing the Professor's friend, what will I do? God, I've never really worried about that before. Never really cared much if something happened to me, not that I go looking for pain anymore. Just don't try to avoid it either.

Maybe I _am _a masochist.

I am Path. I am an x-man. Nothing else matters.

wWw

Warren felt the slightest of thuds as the Blackbird settled in a vacant lot under the skillful manipulation of Logan. Tris still sat beside him, her small hands and long fingers relaxed in her lap. She looked as though she were waiting for the light to turn green in an empty intersection - bored, quiet, and lethargic. Warren unbuckled himself and stood to join the rest of the team in their huddle around the door. Scott had carefully outlined each member's part in the mission tonight. Remy and Kitty, pushed together with Bobby and Rogue both missing, were to provide a distraction with Remy charging various objects while Kitty kept them both out of phase in case of retaliation. Beast was to stay on the jet in case of an emergency while Jean and Tris conveyed messages to each group as human radios. Angel and Storm would fly up the side of the building, taking Logan and Tris with them but leaving Jean with the distraction group. Kurt would enter the interior of the building and meet them at the top floor where Jobes was being held.

"I know that I don't need to tell you to keep this as quiet as possible. The less people know we've even been in and out of the building the better. Mortalities should be non-existent here - we're dealing with mostly untrained citizens."

Warren felt a brief stab of unexpected fear at Scott's wording. Should he interpret the mortalities implied as x-men deaths, or the possible killing of those holding Jobes?

Tris nudged him, and he turned to see her eyes a steely grey, almost translucent in their intensity. "Storm and Kurt are going." Stepping closer, she fastened the two clips at her waist to their matching rings on his breast piece, pulling her body flush against his. Warren tugged gently, testing the new equipment's temerity before nodding. The idea of a harness to connect them had been suggested by Logan as a better method of transportation than Angel simply holding her. The clips enabled him to free his arms completely as he needed to while balancing the additional weight in a method that still permitted flight. The strong carabineers presented no problem to Tris' telekinesis should an emergency arise - a small flick of her mutation and they would be released.

Locking his arms around her waist for extra support, Warren used his legs to lunge off the ground, aided by a small 'push' from Tris as well. While unable to transport herself without deep concentration, Path could bend the rule a little by 'throwing' him upward whilst he held her. A strand of her dark hair came loose from the severe bun and lashed him in the face as the downdraft from his first wing stroke rushed past them. The harness strained a little against his shoulders, but not so uncomfortable as to distract him from the smoothly rising Storm and Kurt. If only his mutation were that apt in its application.

"Warren, hold for a sec."

Warren struggled against an eddy of wind before holding them in their location, beating his wings in a complicated figure-eight sweep he had found useful for hovering. Tris had her head tucked against his chest, and he felt her lips moving against him in silent whispers.

"Logan."

The single word reverberated in not only his ears, but also echoed in his head. Tris raised her head and looked directly at the building, then suddenly clutched at him.

"Warren, go. GO!"

Her legs tangled with his as her hands tightened around his upper arms. He lunged upwards in shock at the pain, hissing slightly in surprise. "Tris!"

_::Storm, Logan's in trouble. They have a mutant that needs Leech::_

Warren twitched in mid-flight, losing his next stroke up. Tris was looking upwards where Storm had stopped. Kurt suddenly twisted out of her hold, teleporting to a narrow window ledge and gripping the concrete as wind howled past them all in Storm's shock. Warren felt himself blown sideways, then his motion arrested simultaneously with an increased pressure in Tris' already painful hold on his arms.

"Warren, we need to land."

The air pressure around them lessened, almost seeming to disappear entirely within a few heartbeats. Warren shot upwards, barely managing to stop in time to land awkwardly on a concrete balcony, knocking over a fake tree. Storm's arrival set the plastic plant spinning as her black cape swirled in the same breeze that whipped her hair. Milky eyes looked directly into his before the weather goddess placed a finger against her lips and knocked lightly against the window. She nodded at Tris, who unclipped herself from Warren and placed a palm against the seam separating the two panes of dusty glass and frowned. The windows shivered, then opened silently. Storm stepped lightly through the dark hole, disappearing from view in the inky darkness. Tris cocked her head sideways, listening intently, then shut the windows with an audible _click_. Warren started forward to join her, but stopped when she stretched out a hand against his chest before he could get near. Closing her eyes, Warren saw an expression of absolute blankness flit across her face before she rejoined him.

"Hank's going to go get Leech, he's only a few miles from here."

A rumble from the jet below showed the truth of her words as the Blackbird smoothly pulled up and sped off. She pulled at his hand, lacing her fingers with his, and had just started to nestle up against him when she suddenly snapped her head around to face the balcony rail. The Cajun voice that screamed out showed why before Warren even had time to turn his head.

"Merde, _Tris_!"

"Remy. Warren, _come on!_" Tris was tugging at his hand, then released it and simply jumped up onto the balcony railing and disappeared from sight over the concrete barrier. An explosion from below rocked the concrete shelf, knocking Warren down as he scrambled after his team mate. Another explosion went off as he managed to sling himself over the edge of the railing, snapping his wings open. A cloud of acrid smoke stung his eyes, and he coughed and flung his hands over his face. He could barely make out Tris below through his tears. She seemed to be kneeling on the ground next to Kitty, who was lying in a puddle of something dark...

Warren dove, recklessly closing his wings to drop faster, and only managing to open them in the nick of time to prevent himself from crashing. Tris was holding one hand over a cut on the younger girl's leg, the other busy buckling a belt tightly around her slight thigh. Kitty's face was so pale as to make Warren suspect serious blood loss. Tris was forced to hold tightly to the belt as Shadowcat faded in and out of phase through the pain that seemed to wrack her body. Path grabbed through the thin shoulder, eyes narrowing. Her voice was unusually soft.

"Where's Remy? Kitty, listen to me, I need to find Remy. Where is he?"

Kitty coughed, and Warren noted with a numbing sense of shock the small spurt of blood that escaped from under the tourniquet at the movement. "He let go of me, and I tried to phase out to get him when the car exploded. I think he's over there." The girl indicated a piled of rubble that had once been a second story balcony roof, but was now morphed into a mountain of twisted steel and concrete, roof tiles splintered on the ground around it. Tris stood and ran towards the stack, stopping at a point just before it.

"Warren, over here!"

Tris had taken off on a tangent towards the dark wall of the building. Another explosion knocked her sideways, and she skidded before continuing on her path. Warren ran after her, reaching the wall just in time to see a lightening bolt hit the concrete railing he had left earlier. Storm had reappeared, holding Logan in front of her. Kurt _bamphed _down next to them a few seconds later, reaching Remy just before Storm and Tris. The southern mutant was huddled down against the bricks, holding his knees in front of him and looking like a lost child. Blood on his face and hands showed the true story however as Tris leaned down and whispered something in his ear. Remy nodded, and just before Warren could kneel down next to him, she pulled something from below his collar. Gambit yelped, and his red eyes glinted in the light reflecting off the shard of glass Path had just extracted from his shoulder. He still had one of his hands clamped onto his abdomen, his trenchcoat giving off an unnaturally shiny gleam from the smears of blood. She tossed the shard to the side, her hand directing Remy's to his shoulder as Jean came up supporting Kitty. The group huddled together under the overhang, firelight flickering off of the burning cars and rubble. Logan looked unusually shaky and pale in the dim light and Aurora had her hand on his forearm, the generally serene goddess standing stiffly, jaw clenched as she watched the weaving Wolverine. The weather goddess looked questioningly at Jean, asking, "Jobes?"

Jean shook her head. Tris stood suddenly, startling everyone.

"Where's Scott?"

Jean remained squatting beside Kitty, ignoring Tris' question. Path walked beside her and asked again.

"Jean, where's Scott?"

Jean didn't answer, her hands fumbling uselessly with a syringe. Kitty's eyes were closed, and while she seemed to be breathing easier, bruises had started to form along her face and arms. Tris gently took the shaking syringe from Jean and injected it easily into Kitty's arm with the expertise of practice. Warren, his mind fogging from the unexpected and so _real _violence, had the faculty to wonder blindly where she had come by that knowledge. Shadowcat inhaled sharply, her eyes wide, before relaxing limply with her breathing steadied. Dark sleekness pressed against flame red hair as Tris leaned close to Jean.

"Jean, we need to know where Scott is. Beast is coming with Leech, and we need Scott out of the way before they get here."

Jean remained silent for a moment longer, then pointed upwards. He voice was broken and deep. "I can't feel him... I think he's dead. He won't answer, and even the little part of him I sense when he's asleep is gone."

Tris nodded, then stood. She tugged at Kurt, who was cradling Kitty's blissfully unaware head in his lap. "Kurt, I'm gonna go get Scott. 'Kay?" Warren shook himself out of his shock and moved closer to her, nodding to Nightcrawler's expression of blankness. "Tris, what do I need to do?"

Path turned, her grey eyes flickering in the dying fires. "We have to get up to Scott before Leech gets here, because once he's in the building our mutations are useless. Can you get us up on the roof?" She flicked her head upwards. Warren followed her gaze to see a roof tile diverted before it could hit them, presumably by either Jean or Tris' telekinesis. Logan gruffly intervened, shaking his head and removing the tropically colored helmet before speaking.

"Tris, y' can' go up there. Hank'll b' here. Jus' wait."

Before Path could respond, the Blackbird's hum broke through the ominous rumbling and creaking of the still inferno-like hulks that had once been cars. Beast landed the small jet nimbly, and it had hardly stalled before he was out the door with a young boy following him. Warren felt an overwhelming fear from the entire group suddenly break through his shielded empathy - Storm in fact seemed downright intolerant of the child. Even Beast was staying a careful ten or eleven feet away. Leech however, for that was who Warren assumed he must be, appeared to either be ignoring these reactions or was unaware of them. His pale eyes looked ghostly in the darkening night. The few fires that were still burning reflected from his eyes and pale skin.

Tris shrank against Warren's side, and she went so far as to put a protective hand against her temple, watching the ramrod straight boy with a combination of thankfulness and wariness. Warren started to walk towards the child, intending to ask how he could help or even (using misguided and rusty manners) introduce himself. Before he had gotten within six feet, something happened.

A tearing pain on his back and in his chest made him stagger backwards wheezing. Tris was next to him, dragging him farther back before he could protest.

"Jesus Warren! I thought you knew, we have to stay away from Leech during battle to maintain fighting condition."

Leech turned his head, the pale eyes staring at Warren, the two bright blues meeting for an instant. Then the young boy simply walked towards the building front. Jean waved at Tris to follow. The telepath seemed somewhat recovered, though her pale skin and too bright eyes told of lingering shock.

"I'm in no condition to shield. You'll have to escort."

Path nodded shortly, squeezing Warren's arm briefly before jogging after the rapidly obscured slender boy. A rumble above them caused Remy to open his eyes and swear, then remove his hands from their pressure. Jean tightened the tourniquet on Kitty, while Beast tended to Remy, eventually pronouncing him fit to be moved and sending Kurt and Logan with him. Warren fidgeted, never moving his eyes from the doorway where his team mate had disappeared. What was going on in there?

xXx

I watched Leech as he looked over his shoulder at me. Like Rogue, Leech chose to be called entirely by his team name. Unfortunately, he was unable to stay at the school as the Southerner did due to his mutation's uncontrollable nature. Only a strong telepath could protect themselves from his draining power. Xavier had placed the boy with a foster family after it became clear his own was not about to appear, and calls on his unique mutation at need.

"Tris, right? The girl with Piotr."

Leech hadn't seen me for several months. I'm surprised he even remembered my name, much less my ex-boyfriend.

"Not anymore. But yes, Path."

Leech nods. Others call me distant and unemotional, yet the mutant in front of me makes my act a mere facade. He is treated as an outcast among outcasts, a fact none of us can hide. Warren's earlier reaction was actually rather mild compared to some when their bodies are faced with instantaneous genetic manipulation. As emotionally painful as it is to be a mutant, becoming a 'norm' through Leech's forceful powers is much equally painful physically.

"What is it?"

I shake my head to clear it. Time for battle. I need to protect Leech from any sort of harm a non-mutant might be able to do to him - sucking powers doesn't do much to stop bullets. Throwing my shields open except for the carefully knit protections from Leech, I search the perimeter of my mind's eye.

"She can emit powerful pheromones. Wall Flower, I think, is the name, but she's hard to read. All I know is that she practically had Logan eating out of her hand, and you know what that means."

Leech's eyes don't widen, but I catch the small muscle spasms around his mouth I decide to interpret as concern. Jean unusually works with him, not me. Not me. Where's Warren? Oh yeah, down below. I should go below. It's nice down there.

"Pay attention."

The mugginess around me dissipates a little as Leech comes to my side, and I realize we are standing in the room where Wall Flower and Wolverine had their contact. She must have left some residual pheromones around.

"Thanks."

"Sure."

A slight blip on the edge of my 'radar' catches both our attentions as I stiffen then creep forward, sniffing intently and trying to block out the calming effect of the airborne drugs our enemy released into the air. Leech knows enough about missions to follow along a few feet back, padding softly in his sneakers. The guard is waiting for us around the corridor, his finger applying an ever-so-gentle pressure to the trigger. I grin back at my younger charge and slip the safety on before turning the corner. No need for chances.

Sauntering down the hallway, I could almost enjoy the frantic look of fear and despair on the man's face if I didn't know what I had to do next. His radio crackles as his pushes a button, and I sprint the last few steps, gathering speed for an attack. My physic blasts are not precise or safe enough to use as a method of attack, so I'm reduced to brute force in these situations. Besides, Path seems to find physical combat exciting, almost a way of getting back at the world that created her in the first place. Kicking out, I catch him between his chest and abdomen armor with a precise blow, then use a telekinetic twist to break his neck. The sound, a meaty _crack, _seems to affect Leech into a human emotion. His nostrils flare as he peeks around me to peer at the body. I wipe my hands convulsively, even though I didn't touch the man now lying at my feet. I watch the action with humor, wondering how that little bit of Tris managed to hang on through the earlier bloodshed.

Logan taught me well.

"C'mon, she's in here."

As usual, the rest of the battle is anticlimactic. What with the Professor's aptitude for erasing memories, virtually no one knows about Leech and his powers. I actually become bored with the expression of shock that crosses their face, and can recite the following looks with ease.

There's the Oh-shit-what-the-hell look, then comes the Oh-my-God-now-what expression, the I'm-dead-and-buried is next, and finally the I'm-going-to-rip-out-your-liver-by-the-roots glare. Priceless, but as I said, when I'm in my Path mode, somewhat boring.

Wall Flower, once her mutation is under control, proves to be a slender brunette with a perchance for pleading. Being the heartless bitch she accuses me of impersonating, I simply drag her back to the jet, turning the now weeping mutant and still impassive Leech back to Beast before buckling into my seat.

Warren touches my shoulder. "Where's Scott?"

Oh fuck.

I desperately cast around for a signature from the team leader, almost passing it by without noticing. Jean looks up at her husband's name. Remy is standing upright, arguing with Beast about his bandage arrangement on the shoulder wound in a weakly half-hearted fashion, too intent to notice his nurse's sudden abandonment. Hank looks ready to explode at his patient's insistence that his ribs are just bruised, merde, how could he have broken them with just a little car? Does the good doctor want to worry his wife? Jean catches my eye at the precise moment I find the faint signature that screams out Scott to me.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

My grimace of surprise obviously isn't what Jean expected. The signature is very hard to find, yes, but then again I don't have a physic link to Scott like Jean. What on earth...?

Then the deeper, more maternal side of me, the Tris side you might say, catches a second heartbeat in tune with Jean's. And all of her moodiness, and her sudden inability to find Scott makes perfect sense. Telepaths often block themselves during a pregnancy to prevent possible backlash and a subsequent miscarriage of the child. Kitty breaks the train of thought by limping in, grimacing but obviously improved by the pain medication and Kurt's helping hand.

"Does he know?"

Jean shakes her head, eyes red and her hands shaking. I try to smile convincingly at her, but can only manage what feels like an aggressive grin. Kurt and Kitty have strapped themselves in, and Hank has hurried over to check on Shadowcat's cut while Remy swears under his breath waiting for the sting from disinfectant to fade. Dr. McCoy turn to Jean with an irritated expression, shoving his glasses up farther. "Jean, I could use some assistance. Can you suture Gambit's shoulder expediently, before he determines the best way to curse it closed?" I follow Jean to the Cajun's side as she picks up a pair of surgical gloves in preparation for stitching Remy's cut.

"He's alive, but unconscious. Warren and I will go get him."

Jean's relief is evident. I shudder inside, thinking that she has likely been completely dead to the world for weeks now. Remembering how I used to feel before my telepathy manifested, for some odd reason the thought of what I might have to do if I ever became pregnant flashes across my mind's eye. Blocked from everything I can now sense? Everything I've learned to rely on since the day it manifested? I've never wanted to lose my telepathic or telekinetic powers, just my odd physical appearance. Scott's signature becomes stronger, and I sense a feeling of grogginess. The fearless leader must have woken up.

"Warren, I think he's above that balcony where we landed. Shouldn't be too hard to get him."

Warren nods and wraps his arms around him. I clip the carabineers to his uniform and nod. Giving us both a slight 'push' upwards, I try to send a message to Scott.

_::Scott, this is Tris. We're coming to get you::_

wWw

Warren felt a muscle in his wing protest as he took off, and winced. Perhaps that dive landing hadn't been such a good idea. Keeping his eyes upwards on the goal of tangled concrete, his mind distracted by the idea of maybe convincing Tris to give him a good rub, he missed the piece of falling slate until it was on them. The numbness that seemed to envelope his psyche at the shock of blood and violence was also dulling his reflexes. Automatically dodging away, Warren didn't have time to remember the extra person attached to him. Path obviously felt something was wrong, but her reaction was too late to redirect the shard. Angel saw her eyes widen as the slate wobbled in midair, moving away from his wings, then hitting her wrist where it clutched his arm with an ominous _thud_.

"Damn!"

Warren faltered as Tris drew the wrist in towards her body, looking at it as though it belonged to someone else. "Warren, could you land us?" Distracted, Angel stumbled as he landed on the balcony. Scott was waiting for them, holding his visor on with one hand. It had a crack between the eyes, and while still in one piece was obviously damaged beyond safety. A trickle of coagulated blood shone on his temple. Cyclops stood shakily as they approached, but stopped when he saw Tris' white face.

"What happened?"

The prospect of a team member being injured brought more life back to his step as he picked his way over to the pair, albeit shakily. Tris was holding the wrist gingerly, twitching her fingers. She looked up and wiped a splotch of blood from Scott's lip with her right hand before smiling.

"A tile. You 'kay? Gave Jean a heart attack there."

"I tried to call her. Is everyone okay?"

Tris shook her head and indicated for Warren to take Scott as she sat on the balcony railing. Angel stayed where he was, looking at the left arm clutched between her white fingers. "Tris, is it broken?"

"No, just a cut and some beautiful bruises. Can you take Scott down and come back for me?"

"Sure."

Scott looked miffed at having his question ignored, but with one hand still splayed over his eyes seemed to find it difficult to demand a response. Warren wrapped his arms under the heavier leaders arms and tightened his grip. While he could lower weights such as Scott, he was still having trouble taking off with them.

"Be right back."

Tris smiled, still holding her wrist. A drop of blood seeped from between her fingers and dripped onto the grey concrete. "I'll live, I promise."

"That's good. We still have cookies in the oven."

Path laughed, the expressive eyes lightening by the second to a steely grey. "Hope they didn't burn."


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I don' own nothin'. So there. Neener neener.

**Summery: **All right, I moved the lemonish scene up from two chapter ago to next chapter, which may or may not be AFF exclusive, because the one I had written was waaaay out of character for both of them in my mind, so sorry to everyone who read last chapters summery and checked AFF. I'm trying to get back on schedule with the story, so keep expecting chapters every week or two, more on breaks. This chapter leads up to chapter fifteen at a pretty fast pace. As usual reviews are adored and framed. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and for those of you who are reading this, but not reviewing... pleasepleaseplease, I'm beggin' ya'll. The robins on my lawn have agreed to give their five-minutes summery of _Moby Dick _to readers who hit that little button. Enough groveling, onward.

**

* * *

Chapter Fourteen**

_Good fucking lord, I hope to hell it's not broken_

I wiggle my fingers about, wishing I could retreat back into battle mode where nothing hurts, but Path has retreated leaving me with Tris and a cut wrist. Watching Warren take Scott over the edge of the balcony, I can already feel the tingling that accompanies my increased healing. An unpleasant pins and needles feeling, which retreats by the time Angel reappears, indicates that I probably just bruised or pulled something. Unwinding my fingers from the slice, I watch a drop of dark blood well and drip with morbid satisfaction. I can even manage a grin at our final exchange. Thinking of cookies is beginning to make me hungry.

Warren's light landing startles me into a defensive crouch. The swift movement opens my wound a little further, and I grimace at the fresh blood. I don't mind so much the fact that my healing isn't as extensive as Logan's, but it would be nice if it could help with a little cosmetic repair. Warren's eyes, wide at my feral gesture, relax when I stand again.

"Are Remy and Kitty okay?"

Warren nodded and moved closer. Unable to help myself, I embrace his warm presence with my mind, feeling the murky brown/cedar touch I've grown familiar with. It always surprises me, such a dark mental signature from someone so light in physical coloring. I still can't read his thoughts, not even the general surface musings most of the mansion's occupants 'path without realizing it, but I have been able to gain a print of what his signature is. He creases his brows together, and pulls me into a physical hug as warm as his mind. I snuggle gratefully into the embrace, resting my head under his chin. He smells of sweat, feathers, and blood, but at the moment I couldn't care less if he stank like a stockyard.

_::Tris, we need to get back to the mansion::_

Jean's call snaps me back into reality. If she's breaking her self-imposed telepathic exile, we need to go home. "Warren, Jean's calling us down." Nodding, he clips the karabiners still miraculously attached to my uniform back on his harness and steps off the balcony. I try to pull us both upwards enough to give him the needed lift for a smooth landing, but judging by the painful snap of his wings don't succeed. We land with a decidedly ungraceful _thump. _Smoothing back a strand of wayward hair, I give myself time to kinetically detach us from each other and step up the Blackbird's ramp. A wave of telepathic pleadings and thoughts assault me, and I wince visibly.

"I've got to help with Remy, see if he won't let me stitch him. Guess he won't let Hank do anything."

Warren nods, exhausted. His wings droop slightly as he plods past me into the seating area, and I send a swift 'path to Jean to feed him something before turning into the impromptu med bay. Remy's back is to me, but the stubborn set of his shoulders shows that the situation hasn't changed in the last few minutes. Hank is glaring in his direction while swabbing Kitty's shallow graze, Kurt swearing in German as Shadowcat trembles from a combination of shock and the sedatives.

"Verdamnte, Gott in Himmel..."

"Shu' yer wailing' Kurt. She'll be fine."

Snatching a roll of gauze from the table, I swiftly wrap and tape my cut, flexing the fingers. The pain is minor now, something I can easily manage. Keeping an eye on Logan to verify that he isn't going to pounce on me for going to save Scooter, I wrap my good fingers around Remy's shoulder. He hisses and turns to face me.

"Petit, Tris, don' do dat. It hur'."

I roll my eyes at the stubborn set of his mouth. "Remy, just wait until I tell Rogue." A small wrinkle of confusion at the corner of each eye is enough to go on. "Well, I mean, you going off into hazardous danger alone, leaving Kitty defenseless, not letting Hank or me stitch you up..." I stop and smile, hoping he will catch the implication of my threats. Smart enough even through pain meds, Remy gives the clear picture of mentally throwing his hands in the air. "Fine, you bully Remy in'to ever'ting, wai' till he tells Rogue wha' Tris been makin' him do, dis Cajun always do wha' his femmes tell 'im to..." The little grumble of sound winds down as I pull on gloves from Hank's stash, smiling at the 'Hank' and the 'normal' carefully lettered on the two boxes. Pulling out a length of sterilized silk suture, I turn into a furry blue chest and stomach.

"Thank you Tris, but I think I can handle the situation from this point. Now that LeBuea had agreed to cooperate that is." Beast throws a dirty look at the abashed Cajun. Remy attempts to make amends with an ingratiating smile that falters at the malevolent stare from Dr. McCoy's blue eyes. I produce a tired laugh, surprising even me, before stumbling to the door. The last hour's exertions have caught up with me - a headache from extended open telepathy, knotted muscles from stress, and what Logan calls a hit-bottom syndrome consisting of too much adrenalin on too little sleep. I weave my way to one of the g-couches, filled with water and heavy cushioning to withstand high gravity in intense acceleration, and collapse. Curling into a fetal position, I can just make out the sound and smell of Warren entering the room and tuck my bandaged and throbbing hand against my side.

wWw

Warren turned from the medical stench of the room and followed Kurt's directions to the galley. There, stretched out on the couch tucked away behind a counter was Tris. Her spine curved into the couch backing as she nestled her head into her knees, flexible as cat in the tightly balled position. She seemed to recognize his presence with a twitch of her eyelid, then he was greeted with a fully open green iris. Dark lashes framed the pale color, and as Warren sat down, he smelled singed hair. Unsure, Angel waited before gently touching her shoulder.

"Path?"

His team mate stretched out and swung her feet to rest on the floor. "It's Tris now luv. I need some sustenance, how about you?" Warren shrugged grimacing as his stomach gurgled, belying his attitude. "I could use some food." he admitted in a small voice. The shock of the past hour's exertions was still processing through his mind. Leech, Scott, Kitty, Remy, that girl they had tied up in the cockpit next to Leech, it was all still a blur to him. He caught the granola bar Tris tossed him and chewed it methodically, still attempting to make sense of his memories. "That girl, who is she?" He noted the lumpy tape around her wrist and hand, but saw no signs of blood or even tenderness in her motions.

Tris turned to him, her teeth half-way into a granola bar. Sharp incisors showed for an instant before she tore a section off with a swift movement of her head. "Mrph?" Her eyes asked the question as much as the inquisitive noise. Holding the pressed bar between her teeth, she started randomly pulling out pins and finally a scrunchie. Her hair tumbled down, reaching mid-back before she swiftly scooped it back up and put it into a loose loop at the base of her neck. She finished chewing and dropped her food on the countertop before answering. "Wall Flower. She uses scents to control people. Pheromones, like bugs." Tris mimed wafting something up towards her nose in further explanation as she took another bite from her reclaimed bar.

Warren couldn't help but smile at her. The swift changes in her moods could never help but intrigue him. Tris seemed to have a bottomless energy that she could turn on and off at will. He watched her moving to another cupboard almost frantically, finally pulling out a six-pack. She turned to him conspiritally. "Logan left these behind 'on accident'. Warm though." She tossed them back in the cupboard and sat back down on the opposite end of the couch. Angel began to get nervous as she fidgeted briefly with her bandage, then stood again. "Be right back." She turned to the doorway and disappeared, only to be escorted back in by Logan a moment later.

"Logan, I'm fine, I just need something to drink..."

"These'll do. Where's that ice brat when you need him?" Logan had reclaimed the beer from under the counter, grimacing at them in disgust. "Warm. But they'll calm ya down." His accent, which had become indistinguishable for a few moments, was back with a vengeance. He popped the cap on one and pressed it into Tris' resisting hand. "Drink it elflin', 'r I'll shove it down yer throat. Can an' all." Tossing another can to Warren, Logan opened the last with a contented sigh. Tris gulped down a mouthful of the beer and made a face, carefully hiding her arm behind her back. Logan seemed oblivious to the injury.

"This is disgusting."

"Mmm." Logan's murmur of assent doesn't seem very truthful considering he was still gulping the warm beverage down. Warren set his unopened can back on the couch. It wasn't being underage that bothered him so much as the fact that he wasn't really up for anything interrupting his thought processes at the moment. Just then Storm walked in, her movements as sleek as a hunting cat. And she was stalking the Wolverine.

"Logan, did we or did we not discuss this."

Wolverine turned with the beer still in his hand. "Wha' Aurora?"

"Giving alcohol to underage students. We run a school Logan, and Tris is only twenty."

Tris waved a hand to Storm as she took another sip. "Actually, another month. Still nineteen." Logan threw her a you-really-aren't-helping glare before returning to his mollification of the weather goddess. Tris winked at Warren, her nerves suitably calmed from the beer.

Warren blinked slowly. Logan and Tris were now acting as though they had just gotten back from a golf tournament, not a mission in which several members of the team had been injured. Tris' earlier nervous fidgeting he could understand, but this casual camaraderie was disconcerting. Jean and Scott turned up a moment later, crowding the room further. Scott, his eyes tightly shut, held onto Jean's hand as she wound her way to Tris and handed her the broken visor, mumbling something Warren wouldn't hear due to the noisy argument still going on over the beer. She pointed at the gauze and tape wrappings on Tris' arm, and nodded, seemingly pleased, before handing over Scott's visor. Two pieces dangled loosely from each other, a few wires holding them together. Fitting the pieces together and ignoring the Storm and Wolverine, Path took another inelegant gulp of beer and started rummaging in a drawer.

A few seconds later, she emerged with a roll of ducktape. "Warren, hold this for me?" Still examining the eyepiece carefully, Tris waved her beer in his direction. "If I put it down Storm will confistacate it." Warren took the can from her, intrigued despite himself and the lingering trembles still in his system from the battle. With a soft hum, the Blackbird lifted off just as Tris ripped off a section of ducktape and wound it tightly around the break in the glass. Jean looked too shocked to take them away from her, and Scott was clueless as to the desecration of his visor. Handing the equipment genially back, Tris turned around to replace the tape in the drawer. Jean stared at the impromptu repair job, rolled her eyes, and hauled her husband back out of the room, with him complaining the entire time about stubbing his toes. He was back moments later, ridiculously attempting to look dignified with a strip of ducktape between his eyes. Warren tossed him the unopened beer. Scott mouthed his thanks before Jean appeared so fast she might have teleported and chivied him out of the room and off to med bay. Logan stalked out a few moments later with Storm hot on his heels and holding the remaining three beers. Tris took the open drink from his stunned hand and sprawled beside him.

Warren felt more overcome by the past few hectic minutes than anything else that had happened that evening. How could he have thought asking Tris out on a date was difficult? The question was answered as she practically jumped off the couch a moment later, causing a similarly startled reaction from him, and dove for the supply closet. Reappearing a moment later, she tossed him some jeans and a shirt. "Put these in last week, when we re-supplied." She held out a skirt and top for his inspection, grimacing. "Forgot my stuff though." The brilliantly yellow outfit made the true owner clear - only Jubilee wore that particular shade.

"Jubes is shorter and a bit fuller figured than me, and I hate yellow, but this ought to hold until we get home."

Warren frowned in thought. "It's only twenty minutes back. Why not wait?"

Tris looked at him oddly. "I'm covered in blood. No, not like that, I'm not going nuts." Tris laughed at his expression, her usual throaty giggle making Warren relax. "I mean I can smell the blood all over me. You too, but since it's my smell on you it doesn't bother me. You honestly can't smell it on me?" Warren shook his head. A frightened expression flitted over his team mate's eyes for a moment before she grinned again. "My nose must be getting sharper then. Be right back." The flirtatious look she sent his way was as unexpected as it was soothing to his worries. Tris was interested in him, despite his less than stellar act in this mission. After all, what had he done? Flown around a little, carried Kitty back to the Bird? Leaning his head back, Warren let her mischievous smirk float across his mind's eye.

He was so glad he had asked a curly-haired mutant to dance with him only a few months ago.

xXx

I hitched the waistband of Jubes skirt a little higher. Not going to work. I peel the bandage off my cut, noting the already healthy pink flesh. While it will only take a few days to fully heal, I'm willing to bet that this particular cut will leave a scar. Well, no time to waste on spilled milk. I tried once again to pull Jube's skirt higher. While she was hardly stocky, I had become quite virtually a lean machine with the extra training for Warren. Hardly any noticeable muscle mass, and still only a tidge over 110, but looks can be deceiving. I've never been the type to bulk from muscles. Sighing, I slip the black leather back on and toss the clothes out of the tiny changing closet. Stepping around the corner, it surprises me to see Warren stretched out on the couch, head back. His eyes are closed, although he looks to still be awake if the little smile dodging around his mouth was any indication. A habit of neatness makes me bend to pick up the discarded garments.

"Stick with your blacks and greens Tris, they suit you better."

Jean. Ugh. The only word I can think of to describe that now hormonally _pregnant_ woman. I honestly don't know why she hates me so much. I'm not pretty, no competition there - I suppose it must be the rivalry for head telekinetic, since the Professor has top telepath covered. And I hate to admit it, but we're about evenly tied for that one. In her insane alter-personality mode, she could far outcompete me; however, that personality is, as I mentioned, a nutcase psychopath. In her normal persona, I can easily overcome her as either Tris, or as Path who opens up more wide-scale approaches with her lack of normal morality. However, Tris is completely under my control, and while Path may be psychotic at times, she does have a sense of honor and loyalty, just not much of a humanist conscience.

I'm thinking myself into a corner here. I turn to Jean, smiling crossing my arms over the plain black of my chest. I never understood the concept of painting an enormous crosshair target on your torso. "Well, Jean, at least I chose colors that don't clash with my hair dye."

A muscle twitches. She knows I'm telling the truth, although without Logan's senses I can only pick up the smell the day after she re-dyes. Must be for grey hair, because her hair is red, a fact that can't be ignored due to the multitudes of pictures of a younger Scott and Jean spread around Xavier's office. I open my mouth, and then stop. Why do I do this? Rise to her bait? I shake my head and flop next to Warren.

"What names are you going to choose?"

Jean's eyes soften. Her hand goes automatically to her stomach in a protective gesture. "Can you tell what it is?" I shake my head. Ultrasounds have been proven to have unexpectedly traumatic effects on telepathic fetuses, and as such most mutant couples have taken to staying entirely away from all but completely non-invasive treatment for a fetus - such as another telepath or empath. "Twins though." I can still pick up the extra hearts beating ever so slightly out of sync with their mother. Jean smiles.

"Told Scott?"

She shakes her head and turns to leave the kitchen. Without thinking, I call after her, "I'm happy for you." The note of sincerity surprises us both. Stopping in the doorway, the redhead nods, and continues out of sight.

"Never gets boring here, does it?"

Warren is watching me warily, his face clouded with something. I grin and rub my cheek against his bare shoulder gently before retreating to the other end of the couch. "No, not really. Only a few more minutes."

A silence falls, during which I finish the reclaimed beer and watch the play of light across its aluminum surface moodily. Warren shifts noisily and startled, I glance towards him. His elbows on his knees, he has his chin cradled in one hand while the other fiddles with a loose thread on his pants. I give his hand a kinetic nudge and he looks at me questioningly. "How'd you like your first mission."

"Scared the shit out of me, and I didn't even do anything."

I raise my empty can and eyebrows to his reply. Not surprising. Not many are as well-prepared as Logan and myself for seeing death and destruction, loneliness. Perhaps that's why Wolverine gravitated towards Rogue and me. We are three of a kind, all of us taught by the world to be self-sufficient and emotionally immune to danger. Of course, the lesson only really took with Logan; you might say Rogue and I earned a low C in that course - enough to pass but not enough to excel.

"You did better than Kitty on her first mission. Or Remy for that matter." Warren turns his head and looks skeptical. I decided to elaborate. Besides, talking will keep me thinking positively until we can get back to the mansion and I can retreat for a good post-battle session somewhere. "Kitty, she saw a sentinel and phased right into the basement of some poor dear. We had to go rescue her from an old lady and her frying pan." Warren's lips twitch. "And Remy, Remy was already trained for battle when he got here. Only he missed the lesson on teamwork and dropped Rogue down a manhole. Good thing she could fly, or we wouldn't be expecting little Romys any month now." This time the twitch turned into a laugh. I grinned back at him. This was kinda fun, reciting all the dumb things we've done on early missions.

"Rogue now, one of my first missions here, she was feeling a little hormonal and just came skidding around a corner and belted a soldier. Only it was Scott."

Warren is starting to look a little happier. Come to think of it, I'm starting to feel better too. "Bobby froze me _inside _a room with Juggernaught - that didn't last long of course. Jean tripped and fell flat on her face on one of our few positive newscasts; I think I still have the video actually." I started to giggle a little. "Storm hit this water creature with lightening once, and instead of frying, he was boiling hot acid all over the place for ten minutes. I think the most memorable one was Storm forgetting that Logan is a natural conduit and aiming for someone next to him. Except _he _got whacked instead." Warren is having trouble breathing. "Logan once threw someone out a window, where they fell fifteen feet straight onto Remy's head. Kurt actually teleported a bomb into the Blackbird he was so flustered where to take it." By now, I'm laughing as hard as Warren.

"Goo' times."

Logan is standing in the doorway looking contemplative. "Then, 'o course, there was the day Scott blasted through half-pint's head to hit someone else. She claimed it gave her headache for three days." I smile at him, glad he is joining in with us. "Lets no' ferget Tris here. Wha' was i', the thir' mission whe' ya fell outa a tree on m' head?"

I snort while Warren howls. "I got distracted, okay?" Logan gives me an unbelieving look. I swing my hands wide in a flamboyant gesture in defense. "How was I supposed to know that snake wasn't poisonous?" Warren has his face covered, and his ears are bright red from suppressed laughter. About to make another comment on Logan's many fauh paxs, instead I feel the soft thud that indicates we're home. I instantly feel the pull of a hot shower. "Seeyouguystommorrow." I blurt out the single word in one breath and sprint for the door, passing Kurt on the lowering ramp. Managing to make it upstairs before anyone else even knows we're back, I hit the play button on my player and head for a long shower.

The laughter that buoyed my spirits on the plane leaks away as I drop the stench of leather, blood, and sweat from my body and turn up the water until I yelp when it hits my bare skin. Pale scars show past injuries, but I ignore them and unwrap the soaking bandage from my latest cut. Gritting my teeth, I ruthlessly scrub away the dirt and dried blood, looking down to follow the brown trail as it disappears into the drain. Leaving the water running, I try to purge the thoughts of what Warren must have thought of my precipitous exit. Logan knows, but Warren has yet to learn. I probably could have managed a better explanation. The iodine stings in my cuts, and I could almost welcome the pain if it weren't for the thoughts of Warren. Damn, I forgot about Wall Flower - Melissa? Oh well, Leech and Beast will likely take her downstairs to the containing pen. Not my problem anymore.

De-tox from battle, stage one.

wWw

Warren stood, watching the back of Tris' head disappear. "What...?" Logan smacked him genially on the shoulder. His inherent aggressive streak seemed to have ebbed with the violence of battle. "Jus' Tris Warren. Jus' her. You go see 'er, ya hear?" After this uncharacteristicaly friendly order, Logan tromped off, joining Storm as she glided down the exit ramp. Warren brought up the rear, watching Kurt's tail twitch anxiously as Kitty hopped beside him, her high ponytail level with his shoulder, the blue head bent to whisper something in a delicate ear. Jean and Scott strolled down one after the other, both loaded down with medical supplies, while Beast nimbly jumped directly from the door to the ground. Warren started as Remy tapped his shoulder from behind. He had been keeping a wary eye on Leech and the captive as they trundled a safe distance after Beast, the young boy gazing serenely around in a manner fit to beat the professor as Wall Flower walked unhappily in front of him.

"Is Warren tinkin' dat dey look like de ark, or is dat jus' Remy?"

Warren snorted. The resemblance was indeed striking. "What does that make me, the pigeon?" He glanced sideways at the Cajun. Remy grinned broadly, fingering the bandage across his chest before buttoning up his shirt and smoothing it over the lumpy gauze. His armor, the shoulder piece neatly perforated in alignment with his wound, hung from his uninjured arm. "Non, you are da dove. Remy mus' be da snake, wit' his forkened tongue."

"REMY LEBEAU!!! YOU GET DOWN HERE SO AH CAN KISS YOU PROPERLY!!!"

Rogue, her stomach already rotund from the growing child, stood at the bottom of the ramp with her hands on ample hips. Her eyes were only for Remy as he gave Warren a pitiful look and clomped down the ramp noisily. "How is Remy's fav'rite wife?"

Rogue narrowed her eyes before lunging at her husband. "Ah better be your only wife. Oh, Remy!" The last was more tender than anything Warren had ever heard from the often sarcastic if caring Southerner. Remy looked embarrassed at Warren over his wife's shoulder, his feet dangling as Rogue gripped his chest to her face.

"Chere, Remy is off da groun'."

"Sorry sugah. Tris went upstairs Warren. Ah was so worried Remy!" She put her husband gently down, still embracing him, then laced her fingers with his and dragged him off. Warren stood, alone on the Blackbird, before finally stepping out of the door. He managed to wander past the inquisitive Junior team surging through the kitchen, making his way up the stairs and into his room. Bobby met him at the top of the stairs, his blue eyes calm.

"Anyone hurt?"

Warren nodded, pushing past the youth. To his surprise, Bobby grabbed his shoulders and stopped him, his superior weight an advantage in the corridor. "Is Kitty alright?" The ice-blue flickered with an emotion Angel couldn't pin down, but interpreted as regret.

"Kurt's taking care of her."

Bobby snorted and released him. "Oh, sorry man. Yeah, that lecher would be."

Warren turned his head, narrowing his eyes. "You had your chance with her Bobby. You dumped her if I remember properly." He enunciated the pronouns clearly, unsure of what Bobby was up to. They glared at each other for moment, then both blond heads snapped around as Tris' green door opened. Tris stood there, clutching the lapels of a floor-length trenchcoat shut as she watched the two men warily. Bobby stared at her, then pushed past Warren down the stairs. Tris' eyes followed him before snapping back to Warren. He felt his stomach drop slightly as he took her in. God, she was so beautiful.

"Don't mind Bobby. He's upset with us for leaving him here with the Juniors and you and me for 'persuading' Kitty to let him ditch her."

Warren nodded and rounded the corner, sliding past her in the narrow area by the stairwell. His glance up and down the coat was as much a question as an admiration of the garment. Odd, he had never seen it before.

"You want to come in?"

Tris indicated her partially open door with a flick of her free hand. Warren nodded back. "After I shower." Tris smiled and shut the door behind her with a click. He heard a loud crash from the room, then silence. Shaking his head, Warren walked past her door and on to his own, now a deep blue. He waved down the hallway to Diane, a demonic looking female if he had ever seen one with bat wings and an oddly mottled red skin, before retreating.

xXx

I couldn't help it. Pacing back and forth in front of the window, I look out at the lake wistfully. It was so pretty, and still warm outside. I wanted to swim so badly, would be right now if Warren and Bobby's anger hadn't caught my attention. A knock on my door stops my restless feet for a split second before I bounce to the door and wrench it open.

"Surprise! Thought we'd come give you a good gossip 'fore turning in." Jubilee, her smile brilliant, is closely followed by Rahne. Both watch me as I shake my head and smile.

"I'm pretty tired guys. Can I take a rain check on that?" The two girls look astonishingly abashed before they skitter off on Jean's approach, Jube giving a thumbs up as she goes.

"We're having a meeting downstairs." The sentence is spoken in a tone that indicates her knowledge of my intentions to ignore the summons. Her head is all I can see above the banister. I wave my hand and smile at her. Something between us changed in that last sentence of congratulations. She senses it as well, smiling back before leaving without another word, telepathic or otherwise.

I wish Warren would hurry up before Scott comes and nabs us personally for a group therapy session disguised as an afterglow. I honestly don't think Warren is the type to benefit from those.

As if conjured by the thought, Warren's knock on my door brings me to another stop. "Come in."

He opens the door, peeking through before emerging into my room. I cast a jaundiced eye around, deciding it looks clean enough. His jeans are loose, low on his hips, with a hint of boxers above in the style of modern day. The still damp wings tucked securely back as he enters, an automatic gesture. My hand drags unconsciously through my own perfectly dry hair. Mutations, you gotta love 'um.

"I'm going swimming. You coming?"

Warren stops in his gentle closure of the door, looking at me uncertainly. "Swimming? But...shower..." His voice chokes on the words. I grin.

"Swimming."

He nods, still confused but obviously trying to humor me. I throw open the window kinetically and step to onto the balcony, gripping the handrail before swinging myself over. Warren's oath follows me a moment later as his head appears above me, back lighted. "What the hell are you doing Tris?" His voice whispers hoarsely after me as I dangle from the bottom of the railing, searching for the top of the wall below my room. My feet find it moments later and I drop lightly.

"Come on, it's more fun if we sneak out." I check the buttons on my coat, and watch Warren follow my example. Before long he stands next to me on the wall top, still eight feet above the ground. We tiptoe down the broad brick structure, Warren seeming to pick up on my need and following me wordlessly as I scramble down through a bush. He hops beside me with a gentle flap, rustling feathers as he re-tucks the wings back. I smile at him, and grasp his hand in mine. The feel of his warm fingers gripping mine back is more of a balm than anything else I can think of as I lead him to the edge of the woods, finally stopping next to the boathouse.

"Normally this would be Remy and Rogue's spot, but now she's pregnant and Remy's injured it should be empty." I feel the need to explain in a whisper as I push the door open into a dark room. I hear Warren grope for a light switch, and stop his hand with my other one standing against him. Our breathing speeds simultaneously, and I feel stupid. This wasn't what I was planning, far from it. I don't want to push anything Warren doesn't want, no matter what his battle-high senses may say. It's a common effect of near-death, this need to prove our continuing existence. Even I felt close to jumping Piotr once or twice after a mission, and I know he felt that way after every battle. Remy and Rogue, Bobby and Kitty, and now likely Kitty and Kurt if Kitty isn't still out from pain meds, they all feel the effects. I'm surprised Logan hasn't expired from the unresolved tension, but I do know he sits resolutely in the mansion every night, keeping away from bars and the houses in an attempt to stay loyal to the unvoiced relationship with Storm. Scott and Jean, well, I'd rather not think about that.

As Warren brushes his thumb over my cheek, I can see his pale eyes in the dark watching me. My brain steers me away from what I could ask for, what I see his eyes offering me, and I pull away. This is part of the reason Junior team members stay junior - they have to be able to control themselves both in and out of the battles.

"The water's not as cold when you go through the dock." I drop his hand and open the door out to the dock. A rowboat bumps the wooden siding. Warren follows me and looks apprehensively over the edge, making a surprised noise when he sees the water. I grin and click my tongue to get his attention. Pointing dramatically, another light flares up blindingly before settling to the gurgling sound of a huge hot tub. My team mate gapes.

"Erm, Tris...?" It's the first time I've ever heard someone actually make that noise. "My feathers don't appreciate chlorine." He looks at the tub longingly but obviously sets the idea mentally away from himself. I pretend-punch his shoulder.

"Good thing the Professor had a sodium-chloride filter put in then, isn't it? And I promise I'll help with the grooming afterward." I look up pitifully, hoping he'll take my suggestions platonically, but also wishing he could be unusually dense and miss all the signals. He wasn't, doesn't, and grins, keeping his distance.

"All this washing probably isn't good for my wings."

"A little cleanliness never hurt anyone."

His mouth opens, likely to argue the point, but I splash a mouthful of lake water into his face before the words can take shape. Warren sputters indignantly. I take the opportunity to pull my coat off and toss it onto a chair, turning to see him averting his eyes and curiously silent. The stray thought of embarrassment and a simultaneous desire for better peripheral vision makes the situation clear. I feel unusually and unexpectedly flattered.

"Gads, Warren, I'm dressed. I would at least warn you, trust me." I generally swim alone and as such sneer at clothing, but for tonight dug out an old bikini top and a pair of board shorts. I had almost hoped Warren would come up and join me, and had delayed somewhat before preparing to leave. Hadn't thought as far as what he might think of seeing me with so little on though. Warren begins to turn his head in answer to my comment, and I decide to solve that particular problem by leaving his sight.

wWw

Warren turned his head slowly, allowing Tris a window to re-cover herself if needed. He had heard enough from Jubes and Rahne to think her something of a 'prude' if he remembered the firecracker's wording correctly. By the time his eyes reach the bare boards where Tris was however, she had disappeared silently. "Tris?" His voice was uncertain as he peered about in the dimly lit boathouse, only a flickering light from the hot tub illuminating the scrubbed walls. A splash from the water outside answered his summons, along with Tris' nearly inaudible yelp at the frigid of temperature of a New York lake. Warren stayed stubbornly where he was. That hot tub might look tempting, but swimming in dark water of an unknown depth with wings was just asking for trouble. Besides, he hadn't gone truly swimming in years.

Another splash and some damp padding footsteps precipitated Tris' return with a towel wrapped around her. "Don't like ice water?" She grinned at him before shaking her head slightly and rolling her shoulders. "I do hope you'll join me in the tub?"

Warren nodded, and unbuttoned his pants. The boxers underneath would serve reasonably well for a bathing suit. Tris nodded her approval back to him, and slipping into the hot water dropped her towel on a railing. Warren joined her a moment later, barely disturbing the water as his thin body knifed into a seat. His wings drooped comfortably over the edge of the above-ground luxury, even as the water came half-way up his chest. He sprawled, enjoying the jets playing across his lower back and striving to not look at Tris.

"Care for a little girl talk?"

Warren's head shot up, and his incredulous stare was only partially for the absurd statement. Tris was barely covered in the gently illuminated water, a string bikini containing her breasts but leaving the rest of the pale skin bare. A nearly invisible tan line marked where the hems of her tank tops and t-shirts normally hung across her neckline and thin shoulders. Long arms tapered to small wrists and delicate fingers, unexpected muscles bulging here and there from the soft slenderness. Her waist nipped in before her hips and thighs were obscured by a pair of baggy men's swim trunks. Her knees and calves were also long and slender, though muscled heavily for their size and leading to ankles too thick to be fashionable. Long toes, abetted by thin feet with round arches played with a head cushion opposite her as she stretched in the warm water. He noted the white scaring across her leg from the operation, faded and partially removed tattoos curling around the joint and disappearing beneath the gaudy print of her shorts. Less faded, but showing the same signs of half-hearted removal as those on her left leg, a small black cat draped over her navel. The eyes, staring directly at his, seemed to resemble their owner with startling clarity, a mixture of green and blue with slitted pupils. Warren slid his eyes upward farther still, unable to stop himself.

Small scars were apparent across her stomach and sides, a few on her shoulder, with three matching slashes across her ribs being the most prominent. None, however, were large or garish - they were all in fact rather unobtrusively thin, most merely visible because of the pale coloring. Only the trio were raised in any way, three ridges that slid over the muscles and bone between them with each shift in his teammate's breathing or position. There was something about those healed wounds that turned Warren's stomach. They looked...so..._deliberate _was perhaps the best word. As if they had been inflicted with the intent of disfigurement, their purpose to warn others of something. He stared at them, wondering where that thought had come from, how he could assume so much, be so repulsed. Not only by his own thoughts, but by the tissue itself, more a mark of...hatred was the word, yes... than anything he had ever seen. A small voice in the back of his mind kept saying that there was something he needed to know about those marks. Her arm moved, and the cuts on her wrists drew his eyes away from the repugnant scars.

"Warren, eyes on the face. You must be tired."

Warren drug his eyes back to hers, dark in the quiet room. Yes, tired. That was a good excuse. He spread his arms over the back of the tub to join his wings, relaxing into the hot water. "What constitutes girl talk?"

"Well..." Tris played with the water, watching as ripples spread out from her knees as they neared the surface. "I don't exactly do normal girl talk, with make-up and guys, but how about a sort of getting-to-know-each-other type of thing?"

Warren considered. "Like twenty questions?" Tris nodded, adding, "Something like." Angel decided it couldn't be too difficult, and might be the perfect opportunity to answer some of the nagging questions about his team mate even Wolverine didn't appear to know the answer to. "You start."

Tris stretched, and the bikini pulled up a little, exposing the round bottoms to her breasts. Warren gulped and redirected his gaze to her face. To his intense relief, she was staring at the ceiling, completely unaware of his eye's direction. "Something you've never told anyone."

Warren blinked. Well, that was a list about three parking lots long. He considered, trying to find something both unknown and 'safe'. "When I was sixteen, I swallowed a penny."

Tris brought her head back down and grinned at him. "I did that when I was a little tyke. Thought I was going to die." She changed the control of her jets absently. "Your turn." Warren snapped out his question before he had a chance to talk himself out of it. It might not seem personal for anyone else, but he'd bet it was to her.

"Why'dyoujointhex-men."

Tris looked at him incredulously. "Slower and in English, if you please."

"Sorry. Why'd you join the x-men?"

Path scratched absently behind one ear, biting her lip. "Dunno, really. Just needed a place to live, and here was this perfect, gold embossed opportunity to get free food. All I had to do was stay in good shape and go out to save the world occasionally." Her smile showed she was joking. "Then I saw the reason for it, and stayed on because I wanted to help." She ducked under the water, and came up with her hair sopping. She wrung it out before asking her question.

"What's your first memory?"

Warren didn't have to consider. He answered with a constriction of his throat he hadn't felt in months. "Watching my mother being buried. I was three, and I remember that my dad didn't want to hold me. My nanny came with us to the funeral." He shook his head, avoiding her direct gaze. He didn't need sympathy for the old wounds. "What about you?"

Tris grinned fondly. "I was probably only about four. A priest friend of my parents gave me a kitten and a peppermint, and then patted my head. I saved that peppermint for ages, even though I hate the way they taste." Her eyes, turned to him, were soft. Warren chuckled enviously. "I always wanted a pet. Never had one though."

"I didn't have it for very long, I think we took it to the shelter or something later on. Don't remember that, just him smiling down at me and handing me this little tiny scrap of fur. I was probably barely to his knee. I stayed tiny until about tenth grade, and then grew a foot in a year."

"Do have to take the fun out of life? I was just about to ask whether you were a late bloomer." Warren ducked the spout of water that aimed telekinetically accurately at his head. Tris laughed quietly. "No, not really. Actually, I was talking and walking early, just didn't develop physically until later. Mentally I was on top of the game. Good thing too, considering the number of times I moved." The matter of fact tone she took showed her lack of interest in perusing the subject. She abruptly slid out of the water and over the edge of the tub, landing with a soft splash on the tiled floor. He watched the scars move, under her skin. Their aura of evil was draining away as he grew used to the marks. "I'm gonna go jump in the lake. Be right back for my question." As she turned, he saw yet another ink drawing on the small of her back. Unlike the others it was clearly defined in bold black lines as a triangle, one of the sides thicker than the others. The shape was tiny, and would likely have hardly been noticeable if her skin wasn't so fair. He blinked, trying to place the familiar shape in his mind when she moved farther away, obscuring the tattoo in the darkness. The highlights in her hair were all he could see over the edge of the tub before she was out the door onto the dock.

Warren slid farther in the hot water and rubbed his shoulder. The muscles were sore from his prolonged flights, not to mention stress and near-death experiences. A twinge in his wing reminded him of their position. He gently immersed the feathers in the warm water before pulling them out again, the white sticking to his now exposed pink skin. He arranged himself more comfortably and closed his eyes. Tris' footsteps were all the warning he had before she slipped back in the tub. Gentle ripples rocked against his chest as she rearranged herself and looked at him expectantly. He tried not to look at the cat on her stomach as the muscles moved, giving the creature an uncannily lifelike look to it. He still felt like it was watching him with those Tris eyes.

"What do you want?"

Tris cocked her head. "From life, from you, from the cookie jar? I'm not reading you, you'll have to be more specific."

"From life."

Tris blew an errant strand of hair out of her face, and smoothed another behind her ear. "I want life. That's it, just plain, boring, unimaginative and certainly unbloody life."

"That sounds like you don't want to be a mutant."

Tris smiled. "No, more like if I'm a mutant, I don't want it to be a big deal, right? I want everyone to be a mutant, or maybe everyone is telepathic, or I'm a norm. Maybe they're no such things as mutants and norms, just people. And nobody would look sideways at Kurt and Hank any more than they would look oddly at a black guy. If that makes any sense." She gave another laugh, this time in self-deprecation.

Warren didn't have to consider the answer to that question. "It makes perfect sense, just not realistic. Sometimes they even look sideways at the black guy, and there isn't anything we can do about it."

"Well, that's why it's a wish, and not reality. If you were the Professor, would you try to change people's minds to make them think differently? Think something more conducive to your goals?"

"No." Warren's answer was flat and true. "That's manipulation, and that is something I would never do."

"Oh."

The silence was deafening. Warren cast around for something to ask. "What's the dumbest thing you've ever done? And I want the entire story."

Tris grinned at him. "You would. Actually, that's a very long list, starting with the time I tried to drink formaldehyde at four, and ending with asking you to play this game with me." Warren splashed water half-heartedly.

"I meant something a little more specific." His tone was wry. Tris smiled again, a wide grin, and wrinkled her nose. Her dark eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth as the ceiling above them creaked loudly. "Well, when I lived in Louisiana, there was this family a few streets down from us. They were a huge family, eight kids, twenty cousins, with all the kids in and out of the house all the time. I got to be friends with the son of the family, and we did some crazy stuff together. This one time, we hitchhiked into New Orleans, and ran up and down Bourbon Street all night, and then snuck into Pat O'Brians - it's a restaurant - and stole some of their gift cups. We dared each other to try all the different types of dish soap. Tasted, and then spat, not swallowed." She ran the tip of her tongue over the edge of her lower lip reminiscently. "But the dumbest thing we did was try to take his uncle's sailboat out of the harbor. We managed to untie it, and then, having absolutely no clue how to sail, ran it into the boat next to it. Barely made it out of the area in time." Her smile turned thoughtful. "Actually, we wouldn't have if we hadn't dived into the bay. Spent an hour trying to hide in three feet of crystal clear water by stirring up the bottom and ducking under the dock every time someone came by." She looked at him. "What's your favorite thing in life?"

Warren thought. He had never really considered the question before. "Sleep." He decided the flippant answer was likely to be partially true.

Tris snorted. "Should have seen that coming. Your turn."

"If you could have any mutation of any strength, what would you want?"

Tris unexpectedly frowned. "That's an easy one. I always wanted to be a healer, so I could heal animals. Being a vet was something I wanted to do since I was little. But my telepathy isn't even sensitive to animals, and empathy is mostly a human thing - most animals don't have emotions besides pain and satisfaction ." She amended her statement. "That I can pick up at any rate."

Warren looked at his team mate with interest. "A healer?" Tris nodded, pursing her lips slightly in thought as she considered something.

"Where is your favorite spot in the world?"

"Wherever you are." Warren slapped himself mentally, and hastened to add a flippant, "Or wherever the brownies are. Take your pick." He hoped she would take the comment as a joke. She seemed to only see partially through his facade, laughing but watching him thoughtfully. Angel hurried to ask another question of her. This game was getting somewhat sticky.

"Why'd you stop dancing?"

Tris quirked her mouth, her face unusually expressive, even for her. "I didn't. I just don't practice every day anymore. Dancing is like chocolate to me - I enjoy it so much more if it's a treat instead of a staple. 'Sides," she rolled one shoulder in dismissal, "now I'm not competing or in classes, I don't have to be perfect. I only dance any more for me. And you, once." Her eyes, still dark, closed slightly as she smiled. Warren remembered their first meeting and smiled back. It seemed to him that he had always lived in the mansion, and the other nineteen years of his life were like black and white photos compared to the iMax theater that was the x-men.

"Why do you hate your father?"

Warren gulped and stared at Tris. "You said no powers..." he started accusingly before Tris interrupted. "Come off it Warren. You've never mentioned him, not once. You lived with a wealthy family, I did background checks on you in your first couple of weeks. No scandals, although your mother died when you were young. Your father is successful, well liked, and his telepath secretary says he is in no way interested in boys, young or otherwise." Warren gaped.

"Debbie was a telepath? Is a telepath?"

Tris nodded, and her jaws clenched. "He's a mutiephobe, is that it? He didn't want you because you were a mutant. I'm not peeking!!" She held up her hands defensively, and made an odd cutting gesture across her left wrist with her right index finger. Warren noted the movement for later contemplation. He settled back in the tub.

"He was ashamed of me. And I don't hate him, I just don't have any respect for him. He never tried to do anything but cure me of my 'illness'. Amazing I turned out so normally abnormal as I am, actually."

"Don't do that." Tris' voice was sharp. "I just about invented the game of dissing yourself before someone else can do it. You don't need to with me, remember? I'll tell you to stuff it if I think you're getting a little inflated with your own ego, don't worry about that." She laughed, and he felt a light telekinetic tug on his ear. "You're very cute when you grimace, you know that?"

Warren blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Ah said, you're very cute when ya grimace." Tris drawled a passable imitation of Rogue out before smiling again. Warren, puzzled at her suddenly flirtatious manner after earlier rebuffs, changed the subject. "What was that, that sign you just did?" He repeated the gesture of forefinger across wrist. Tris appeared shocked for a moment. "I did that? Oh, I did. Old habits die hard. It's like crossing your heart, that you're not lying, or something similar. You can take it literally or not." She shrugged. Warren was intrigued.

"What's it mean, literally?"

Tris shrugged and looked at him oddly. "If I'm lying, may my wrists be slit. It's a whole language, of sorts, when you start delving into it."

"Sign language?"

"Not really, like, oh..." Tris seemed to contemplate something before answering him again. "Like, holding your hands out wrist upward, means feed me through a needle, but that's really only used when you won't eat something, or refuse a drink and everyone's pressuring you. Or flicking your palm with the opposite fingers means reach for a knife, like a warning. Body language refined, I suppose." Tris shrugged again and climbed abruptly out of the tub, coming around to stand behind him.

"Don't be so selfless, I can tell your shoulders are killing you."

Warren tried to protest, but instantly gave up as her accurate fingers dug directly into the knot at the base of his left wing. He let his head roll forward before asking another question, disregarding the fact that it was her turn. "Street stuff, right?"

"Street stuff." Tris moved to the other wing joint, bracing his shoulder with her left hand as the right rubbed deeply. She was standing so close behind him. Warren tried to distract himself from her vicinity.

"Soooo... how does dinner and a movie sound for tomorrow night?" He inflected his voice with just the right amount of neutral concern. Tris' fingers stilled for a moment before she continued her merciless unknotting of his muscles. "Good, actually. I'll skip. Still your question." Amazing how tense he still was after a shower, and a lengthy soak in a hot tub. "How long were you out there, without a family?" he asked.

"I had a family. But you mean, how long was I in New York?" Her fingers stilled briefly, and he could feel her tapping lightly with each finger as she counted. "Must have been seven, maybe eight months. Not long."

"How did you survive?"

Tris' hands disappeared from his back, and Warren felt unexpectedly bereft. It had felt so good. "I thought we were taking turns."

Warren turned his head until he could see the edge of her face, illuminated by the hot tub light. She looked pensive, and sad. Her eyes looked past him for a moment, then focused sharply. "What's your favorite name?" Warren sighed, and remembered it would be his turn again after he answered.

"Tyrel. I used to read the Louis La'mour books, and wish my name was Tyrel." He halted, wishing she would either return to the blissful massage or get out from behind him. She was making him nervous, standing behind him like that, probably staring at the back of his head.

"So, how'd you survive?"

"I didn't, not really. Got picked up a mutant gang of sorts, worked as a general busybody, minder, and sniffer in return for clothes and shelter. Everyone was on their own for food, but I was ahead in that department."

"Because of your telekinesis?" Warren didn't find the idea of her stealing appealing, but the thought of her starving was so much worse he found it easy to disregard. Tris finally moved back around the tub to face him, trailing her fingers in the water. He tried not to stare at her chest, then tried not to glance at the scars, pretended to ignore her cat tattoo staring at him, and finally settled for looking into her eyes. Odd, how he never even thought about the fact that she had slitted pupils anymore.

"No, I didn't actually get any kind of hold over that until I came here. I was very good at making others feel sorry for me though, and with the touch empathy I could gauge moods and inclinations. Most of the time though," she admitted tightly, "I wore so much clothing I would have had to strip down three layers just to get any skin on skin contact."

Warren reached a hand around and rubbed lightly at his shoulder where Tris had been focusing her attentions. A nagging throb had replaced the tight muscles. Tris seemed oblivious to his further discomfort, pulling a towel around her shoulders, and then flipping it up to scrub roughly at her hair. She shook her head, the strands already drying rapidly. Finger-combing out the tangles, she dropped into a chair a few meters away from him and rummaged in a chest doubling as an end table. A few moments later she surfaced with a messy pile of dark clothing. She singled out a few articles and smiled at him before shutting the door to a changing stall. Warren watched her feet move around for a few second before first one foot, then the other disappeared from view. He turned away, listening to the quiet scuffles before heaving himself out of the tub. His feathers were nearly dry, the warm summer air aided by the hot water. Drying himself off, he decided to toss the wet boxers in the dryer dustily hiding away in the corner and pull his pants on.

"Tris, you want to watch a movie down here?"

He squatted down and looked at the movie collection before him. His bare feet rubbed slickly on the cold floor as he slipped a little, catching himself at eye level with the four rows of DVD's. Must be Rogue's and Remy's private collection. He pulled out a copied disk of _Star Wars _and turned it over thoughtfully. "Tris?" The small TV. might not be up to snuff compared to his flat screen at the mansion, but it would do well enough for the two of them. And the couch looked to be comfortable.

"Tris?"

"Half a sec." The cubicle door creaked as she emerged, and he turned to see her. The trench coat once again obscured all but the most obvious details - she was wearing socks, some sort of fluffy grey material. Her hair style was unusual, only partially pulled back from her face. Long strands obscured her ears, and trailed down her shoulders in a reddish-brown series of waves, the ends curling inward. Warren remembered to close his mouth abruptly and turned back to the DVD's. She moved close enough for him to see the color of her eyes as the 'normal' greenish-blue.

"Anything good?"

"Couple. Do you have stashes of clothes all over the mansion?"

Tris laughed from behind him, and he relaxed. Their status was still in limbo, an odd combination of friend and friendly. She answered his question with obvious humor. "No. I started coming down here a lot, so Rems said I could keep some stuff in the chest. Hey," and she crouched next to him, her arms wrapped around leather clad knees, "you seen this? It's not bad." She held up a case. Warren took it from her, their fingertips brushing. He felt a jolt at the upward flick of her eyes she gave him through her black eyelashes. "Rogue and I liked it. Has Gerard Butler, guy who played the Phantom in _Phantom of the Opera_."

He glanced downwards. "_Reign of Fire_?" He looked at the case, shrugged, and flipped open the clear cover. "Dragons?" He turned the disc sideways, and examined the fire-breathing creature portrayed.

"Dragons."

xXx

I was sorely tempted. Warren was here, he was available, and he was damn good-looking, smelling, and feeling. I wouldn't mind a little confidential snuggling. Warren settles down on the leather couch - I'm honestly not certain what it is with Remy, Rogue, and leather, even my coat is an old one of Remy's, but I feel sorry for all involved if their child should turn out to be an animal's right's activist - and looks interestedly up at me. I smile and drop down beside him, settling down on his shoulder. The position was familiar to both of us. I hit the play button with a light push of my mind and snuggled into the warmth that was Warren with full intentions of being a good little girl and watching the movie.

Which wasn't that hard, especially with the delectable Gerard, except for the fact that Warren kept shifting minutely. He was usually such good pillow too. After the fourth sigh and umpteenth wriggle, I gave in.

"Warren, what's the matter?"

He sighed again, and moved his hips. I sat upright and moved down the couch, watching him thoughtfully. He was acting oddly strange. At that moment, the dryer rang its alarm. Warren was off the couch in a flash, digging into the hot dryer and swearing as he nursed his burned fingers, then turning the corner. I could hear some noises, and felt his relief at having something to distract him. Distract him from me? I was hardly the distracting type, whatever Jubes and Kit-Kat might say in the throes of friendship. Still, he did ask me on a date, so it was possible that he was actually attracted to me, in which case our position on the couch...

I flushed slightly as I recalled the fact that my head had been practically in his lap, cradled like that against his ribcage. I'm not an innocent, and I very much doubt that he is either, but it was still a compromising situation for a male and female. I would have to give him his room. Much as I might want a move to be made, it needed to be his. Why were movie nights such an emotional high for us? Well, me, this was the first time I picked up anything of the sort from my flyboy. I smile adamantly at the wall for several moments before I see the answer to our problem.

"Tris, what are you doing?"

I turn from my find to see Warren dart his eyes towards my stomach appreciatively. Suddenly remembering my apparel, I button the coat closed again and finish hanging the hammock up from its hooks right behind the couch. Dusting my hands off on a few pillows, I toss them into the net sling along with some quilts and roll myself in using proper hammock etiquette. That is, remember your butt is the center of gravity and all will follow the derrière's fate - be it on a fast trip to the ground or otherwise.

"This way we can both relax. Rogue and Remy won't mind if we stay the night down here." I turn the movie back on before he can argue. "I would offer the hammock, but I think you'll be more comfortable on that." I nod to the twin bed I wrestled out of the old couch, and toss him one of my pilfered quilts. "Come on, you're missing it." I nod my head towards the bed again and plump my pillow up a little more before settling down fully. Warren heaves out a sigh and flops down on the couch, shifting until he is crossways on the lumpy mattress, his wings fully extended over the bed.

I jump as a sudden loud noise from the screen startles me away from Warren-watching.

"Like your shirt."

My brain takes a few seconds to withdraw from the movie plot, and then another few to actually process what the wings in front of me said. "Thanks. Not my usual type, but it's all I had down here."

"You should wear it more often."

I smile grimly. "Or not." The coat tossed aside, I examine the skin-tight camisole, watching my bare stomach rise and fall with each breath. The familiar tattoo wriggles a little as I shiver purposefully. After a while, you don't notice a tattoo on yourself any more than you remember the existence of your fingernails - it's just accepted by the brain as normal part of your surface.

"What?"

I look at Warren questioningly. "I didn't say anything."

He turns, ignoring the screen. "I thought you said you were happy."

I raise an eyebrow. "Um, no. I was just thinking." Warren shrugs and turns back around. I try to recall my emotions of a few moments ago. Yes, I was happy. Warren's empathy must be picking up on me for some reason. I press questioningly against his shields, and find them as immaleable as ever.

Oh well. We're mutants. Things don't have to make sense. Funny, I don't think I've ever managed to feel this normal after a mission. All the lethargy and relief of hours before washes over me, and I slowly close my eyes, savoring the moment. Life can be good, it just takes some manipulation to make it that way. And as of this moment, I decree that my life will be good.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **I do hereby disclaim the idea that I actually own any of these characters which are affiliated with Marvel. The idea!!

**T'anks to Reviewers: **Remy//Glomps// You should really leave me a review, even if you do happen to tell me you like the story in person... especially since nobody else is reviewing the last couple of chapters //sniffles slightly and turns on the treadmill//... however, abject worship of my fans for chapter twelve. **Arden Skysender: **Many thanks for the awesomely long review…As for 'Logan's Club', I'm thinkin' that our hairy friend might just give you a free membership… **Kitty2228: **//Big smile// **Maid of the Mer: **Well, now ya know **LaMusica: **That means a lot to me, that my characters are believable, so many happy returns for the complement.

**To My Readers: **Right, we're earning our M rating here. More still on the way, don't worry ;) I decided to simply mute my smut-o-meter and write this chapter for FF, due to the fact that I figured there is likely to be someone who is not 18 reading this, in which case I would be encouraging to minors to AFF, which slaps wrist is bad. I may yet work in something of the sort later as an optional short though. Note to readers, I have started including footnotes in the text. Which means those little numbers actually correspond to explanations at the bottom of the story. I found that I had a tendency to make characters explain things too fully for the flow of the story, so if you want deeper meaning, and there's a number, you're in luck! Short this time, to make up for the novel of chapter fourteen - I would have split them together, but couldn't find the right moment on the story...

The robins, on re-reading _Moby Dick _and realizing the main character is white, are sending out an SOS for albino robins. Otherwise the production is going well, although the debate over whether or not the birdbath is large enough to stage the production in is still heatedly ongoing. I think they may just be angling for me to get a deluxe bath, sneaky buggers.

Sending out an SOS for a beta!!! If you write it, they will come... props to whatever that movie was. Seriously, it would be wonderful if anyone out there has time to beta for me.

**Chapter Fifteen**

Warren turned, and saw a tousled mop of curly dark hair greet him. Tris' right hand was curled in a fist under her chin, while her left gripped her own shoulder. The ending credits stopped abruptly, a blinding royal blue replacing the black screen.

"Telepathic or not, I've always been a light sleeper. What's up Warren?" Warren's eyes widened in surprise before he realized that it was highly unlikely Tris saw the innuendo in her word choice. He answered "Movie's over", somewhat hoarsely nonetheless. Why was it he was having trouble thinking of anything but Tris right now? He normally enjoyed her company beyond others, but he hadn't _needed_ to be with her before now. Just watching her sleep, something he'd had ample time to do at one time or another, had never made him want to hold her this much. Just a vague sort of embrace, comforting, warm, and with possibility. Nothing had to be proved on the spot, but the possibilities could be endlessly implied. He turned back around to see the screen darken as a noise from behind him indicated that Tris was getting up.

"Holy chocolate starfish1!"

Warren hardly had time to understand that the odd noises were coming from outside the sound system when Tris appeared into his realm of vision. Warren let himself relax, watching her through half-closed eyes with a sort of lazy longing. Her coat had been left in the tangle of pillows and quilts that made up her nest in the hammock, revealing the distinct line made by her dark green crop top camisole verses her pale stomach and back. The two tattoos alternately caught his interest as she turned her back to him, then turned to face the bed and incidentally Warren. The scars that had formerly held his interest were covered entirely by her shirt, allowing him to admire her skin without the marks holding his gaze. Baggy jeans, possibly Jamie's as the smallest male in the mansion, had rolled up cuffs and a thick belt to hold them up. His team mate made an odd picture, with the slender waist suddenly obscured by oversized tightly belted jeans, although they still slipped downwards with each step, showing the beginning of the outward curve on her stomach and rounded pelvic bones. Her feet were bare, apparently the cause for the outlandish swearing as Tris craned her neck to see the bottom of her foot. She hopped over to the opened couch mattress and sat down. Her foot was pulled up in an impossibly contorted position, showing the bottom with a long sliver imbedded deep in the delicate arch. Except for small calluses on, of all places, the tips of her toes2, her feet looked like average sized versions of every other pair of bare feet he'd ever seen, barring Kurt and Beast, and perhaps Logan who made a hobbit look naked. Warren realized, quite suddenly, that while he had seen her feet without socks and shoes many times, he had never really truly examined the exact curve of her arch, or the way she absently fiddled her toes with a quilt when she was thinking.

Warren brought his gaze back to her face to see her frowning, even as her fingers scrabbled to get a hold on the long dark splinter. "Sorry, are you alright?" Warren mentally pinched himself for being such an unfeeling ass. Tris turned her eyes, still a calm green, towards his concerned expression, blue highlights making the orbs seem so terribly alive. "I'm fine. Can't get ahold of it though." She closed her eyes and obviously started to pull the wood sliver out telekinetically. Warren didn't wait, his mind still full of her eyes and the sound of her voice. He was either going to get smacked very hard, possibly kinetically thrown, or Tris was going to accept what he was doing. All it took was some speed and the perfect window. As she breathed in slowly, the effort of microkinetics taking all her attention, Angel saw his chance.

He leaned, careful to shift his weight in a manner that would keep the bed from creaking or moving, and kissed the bare shoulder in front of him just as the splinter dropped to the floor. Tris' deceptively small muscles stiffened to the consistency of granite as her mouth dropped into an 'O' of surprise. Emboldened, Warren moved to her neck, pulling himself into a sitting position behind her. Pins and needles threatened in the near future as he tucked his own feet under him to kneel, but the even the near future held little interest when he looked as Tris' taut neck. Warren, feeling oddly powerless to the feelings overwhelming him and somewhat dizzy from the rapid departure of blood to other regions, placed a hand on either shoulder of the girl before him. She flinched, and turned her head when he tried to kiss her ear. Sitting back but keeping his hands in their position, Warren frowned. A pressing need in his groin was understandable, the pulsing and hardening length of his cock predictable, but the light pushes at his mind were not only unexpected but baffling.

Warren thought hard, just on the off chance that Tris was listening. _Tris...?_

Her answer came back instantly. _Good thinking Warren. I needed a line to path you on. Sorry I can't play along more, but I'm trying to call Logan. He's hard to 'path to. Just keep going. _Warren's hands froze at her words, and his mind snapped into thought. He obediently leaned forward again and nipped at her neck, but his thoughts whirled on almost anything except the smooth feel of her skin. What on earth was she talking about? And why would she call Logan but tell him to keep going? A light sigh from his partner brought him rapidly down to earth. He could almost hear the thump of his brain realizing that he was kissing Tris' neck, biting her earlobe lightly, and had already left a small mark on her shoulder where he had pushed the straps of her bra and camisole down.

_Warren, you are very good at this. Not to mention a fast thinker. I'm going to turn, just keep an eye on the door in case she decides to get away._

Warren gave up trying to figure out what was going on and concentrated on the fact that Tris had turned to face him, running her hands up his stomach, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth when the tight muscles twitched in time with the now hardening bulge at the front of his pants. Angel couldn't remember ever getting this aroused this fast. He spanned the front of her waist with his hands before sliding one hand further up to cup a breast as he lowered his head and started to nip playfully at her lower lip, kissing the corner of her mouth. His opposite thumb stroked the black cat, petting her skin.

_Logan's almost here. Oh God, do that... sorry, got caught up. Wings might be good right now_

Warren's body obeyed her telepathic picture, spreading the wings around them, the long diameter cradling them together as they knelt facing each other. His mind was hardly registering that fact that she was still sending him, somehow, these incredibly cryptic and insane thoughts. He tried to replicate whatever had made her path that second half-finished sentence, and found the answer when a tremble answered his callused thumb grating across her collarbone. He leaned forward, somehow thinking that this was a dream, something he needed to wake up from if he was going to keep from going insane. What on earth was Tris talking about?

A loud crash at the door made Warren snap his head upwards as lights flooded the boathouse. Wolverine, Jubilee, and Bobby were all at the door, Storm's serene profile showing over the small Asian's shoulder. Tris lay back on her elbows with Warren bent over her, his wings obscuring anything of their bodies except his bare back and Tris' head and legs. He peeked over the edge of a feather in shock. Jubilee's eyes fixed on them as she opened her mouth.

"Logan, grab her!!" Tris was pointing to the changing room. Warren, still frozen from the fact that four people had just barged through the door, Tris seemed to have known they were coming, and he was having a major hard-on problem in jeans no less, blinked. Storm looked pityingly at him, while Bobby smirked.

Wolverine snarled and ripped the door off the stall, dragging out a trembling Wall Flower. Tossing the door down to the side, Logan grappled with the wriggling mutant. She shrieked and tried to escape as Storm nonchalantly injected a few ml of clear liquid into her shoulder muscle, Logan's hands tightening on her wrist and waist as she tried to kick at the goddess. The shrieks turned to moans then ended in silence as Logan flung the limp body over his shoulder. Storm rolled her eyes as Jubilee giggled, her eyes swinging back and forth between Warren's shell-shocked look and Tris' legs emerging from between his outstretched knees. Angel shook his head slightly and sat up, disengaging himself from Tris as she used a wing to help herself upright next to him. He wadded a quilt across his lap casually, tossing a pillow distractedly backwards over the couch as he did so. He tried to look as though he had been an instrument in planning this, as that was what Tris seemed to think - from reflection on her words now that the x-men were standing in front of him with the recaptured captive, her 'pathing made much more sense.

Path looked at Logan questioningly and asked, "Warren and I can watch her if you like. There's a cot down in the block where we can switch off sleeping." Warren blinked and added the words to his ever increasing list of 'insane things Tris has said in the last five minutes'. Logan's eyes and face seemed accepting until his gaze slipped down Tris' bare stomach, darted to her disheveled hair, the couch made into a bed, the blank TV screen, and finally lingered on the round red mark located just above her shoulder. His eyebrows drew together, reminding Angel of Zeus about to smite someone with lightening as he stared at Warren. Storm, sensing his mood somehow, put her slim brown hand on his shoulder, white hair glimmering in the electric lights. Warren thankfully felt himself becoming softer with each passing moment. He even managed to cross his legs slightly. Tris stood up off the bed, and winced as she put her foot down. Storm nodded to her, the hand on Logan's shoulder tightening.

"That would be wonderful Tris. Thank you; if Warren doesn't mind, that is?"

Warren shook his head and stood, picking up Tris' coat and holding it out for her. "No. We both got a little bit of sleep." Jubilee giggled again, raising her eyebrows rakishly at Tris, who shook her head with an exasperated expression. "Thank you Tris, for calling us. Unfortunate for the girl that she had to misconstrue your silence in sleep as abandonment of the building. No doubt she was hoping to abscond with a vehicle later this night." Beast's large blue face was hardly avoidable as he appeared in the room and checked the pulse of Logan's limp captive. "Now, if you three will follow me, I think the rest of you can percolate back to your dwellings." Logan, Tris, and a still gaping Warren were led by the blue doctor out the door and back up to the mansion.

xXx

"How in the hell did she get out!!?"

I'm not much of one for overt displays of anger, but this time I could feel myself working up to a real tantrum. Warren and I were getting along wonderfully, and since I had picked up his first mental echo of my name, he had inundated me with sensations I wasn't loath to repeat. But duty comes first, so I called Logan and the Calvary, and then offered to go up and watch our escapee. Damn me and my charitable intentions, I wanted Warren right now!

I was beginning to feel a tlogan3 closing in on me when I realized with a jolt of reality; Wall Flower was at it again. "Back off sweetheart. Not tonight." I glare inside the cell, baring my somewhat protuberant eyeteeth at her. Her eyes widen, and I press the point by snarling ever so slightly.

"Bless you."

Warren, ever the gentleman. I suppose I ought to take the fact that he thinks my snarl is a sneeze as an insult, but I find it hard to be angry when he came down here with me to stand watch. I frown, catching a hint of distress from him before he shifts physically, sealing off the mental barriers once again.

"What's wrong?" I hope the tone of concern will encourage him to talk to me.

"I suppose it's really just now catching up with me - the battle, the kitchen, the, uh, scene just now..." I stare, confused, before the truth once again slaps me. I just assumed that Warren had planned that encounter to distract our escaped prisoner, but if he had in fact been instead simply catalyzed by Wall Flower's pheromones...

"Oh shit, Warren, I'm so sorry, I thought that was your plan."

This is definitely going on my books as a top ten embarrassing situation. Erkle. Warren, being the sweet, forgiving, and recently battle veteran mutant that he is, just smiles and lounges a little deeper in the cot.

"Don't worry about it. Just surprised me is all." _More than surprised me. What wouldn't I have given to get just a little further... though that would be somewhat embarressing, wouldn't it? The yellow terror and Mr. Growly/Hairy, plus gorgeous gal and ice jerk, walking in on me and Tristen - does that sound like slash or what? _The loud burst of thought, almost in compressed form, it was so fast it blindsides me into a reaction.

"What?"

"What?"

We stare at each other, and I give myself a brief kinetic shake. Must have imagined hearing Warren's thought. He blushs, a light tinging of red around his ears and neck as _Ohshitohshitohshit _hits me with an almost physical slap. A smell assaults us both as Jubes, clad in her yellow rubber ducky pajamas, breaks the awkward moment by entering with our forgotten cookies. Her 1000-watt grin slides off her face and hits the ground with an audible _splat _as she looked between us.

"Ummmm... cookies, anyone?"

"Jubes, not now." Warren and I simultaneously turn to the girl, but only I speak aloud the sentence running through our heads.

"Like, where did those cookies go? Jube, Kurt needs cookies, like now girl!!" On crutches and bearing a fatuous grin, Kitty phases her head through the closed door and grabs a handful of cookies before disappearing to the sound of enthusiastic Kurt munching. A blue tail swinging through the door shows that the two are touching while Kitty reaches hand through for another cookie. Jubes obliges her, still staring at Warren and I with a scared expression on her face.

To Be Continued... (yes, how very almost professional of me, isn't it? Now, don't get used to it or anything though...)

1 Hehehe, can I help it if I'm a Smallville fan?

2 If you dance ballet for any extended period of time, even without the pointe (where you stand on the very tips of your toes, hopefully using the correct shoes hintpokehint) you get calluses on the balls of your feet and towards the ends of your toes. And because except for dancing you don't really use that portion of your feet, they tend to stick around for a very long time.

3 Pronounced 'tee-low-jen'. Technically it's what you might call a car on an icy road - means something like 'crazily dangerous' in Wintu, which is a local indian tribe. Commonly used in my area to denounce someone's driving; i.e., "Nice tlogan you got there," means you're insulting a guy's bad-weather driving skills. In this case it just means an out of control situation. Nifty huh? Us mountain folks really do have our own dialect.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **Watcha talkin' trash 'bout chum? Me ownin' these here charactars? Jus' foolin' wit' ya', honest injun I was. I don' own nothin'

**Gratitudes: **I pay my respect to those wonderful people who continue to read my attempts at story-telling... seeing that little number on '# of hits' change every day makes me want to dance for joy //takes a quick spin around the room// Okay, back with a little energy worked off. You are all wonderful glittering people for continuing to read this monster of mine, and leave me with the nearly uncontrollable desire to kiss someone... but since my only companion currently is the pet iguana Deuteronomy, I guess I'll just have to bottle it up. **Arden: **Yippee, yahoo, cayay... Beast's muse (think of him as an agent) asked for your e-mail - I think he is definately interested... either that or he's doing a background check, who knows.

**Reader's R Us: **Pay attention now, oh populace... I have been offered the beta-ing capabilities of the great... the only... ARDEN SKYSENDER//claps enthusiastically// This Deity of Betahood requires worship. So go read her stuff, y'all!! (I love coming from Caf'lornia1) As part of my gratitude, I have handed over the care of Hank to her. I have little time for him between my demanding Logan and the Tris/Warren bunnys, and am sure she will give him the TLC he needs (that and plenty of brushing... I still have the blue hair on my couch to remember him by //sniff//)

No albino robin has been found... however, a midget seagull showed up for the part and was accepted. I think I could handle that except for the fact that my house now smells very suscisciously of fish... even Remy and Vina are starting to notice... I think I'll have them vacuum to distract 'um. Hope it works.

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Jubes, could you give us a sec?"

The yellow peril gulped and held the tray tightly, no longer paying any attention to Warren. Jubilee looks at my eyes again, and then laughs confidently. She knows me. "Come on Tris, calm down. I'm... feeding you... sugar?" I snatch a cookie off the plate, tossing another one to Warren without taking my eyes off the slanted brown orbs before me.

"GrrrrrrrrOWL!!!"

Jubilee, her eyes wide, freezes. Her entire body tenses. I smirk, satisfied that I've finally impressed someone.

"Mrph!!"

I cock my head. Jubilee looked like she was choking. "You 'kay Jubes?"

"Mrph, _snort _grumph!!"

She was laughing. At me. Jubilee. Was. Laughing. At. Me!!

I turn to look at Warren, and see small indents in his cheeks where he is biting back a laugh. Closing my eyes and praying for patience and a better growl, I take the tray from Jubilee, and give her a light kinetic shove in the direction of the door. She stalks off, swaying her hips purposefully and turning to give me a wink before closing the door behind her. A small howl and cries from Kitty seem to indicate she trampled on some portion of Kurt on the way back to the kitchen, before silence once again reigns. Turning to Warren, I shake a crumbling cookie at him, still a little miffed, but beginning to see the humor in the situation. He stands and gently takes the treat from my hand.

"And here I thought that only Wolverine growled."

I snort, embarressed. "I'm not fictional, just discreet2."

"Uhuh." Warren gives me a skeptical look, and crunches into the cookie. "These aren't bad." I roll my eyes, but smile. The compliments today seem to be entirely of the mixed variety. Speaking of today... "Ohmygoodnessgrascious."

"Vhat?"

Warren sprays a loose cookie crumb out of his mouth. Holding a hand over his lips, he crinkles the corners of his eyes apologetically. "Er'm 'orry," he manages, his mouth still full.

I point at the clock hanging prominantly in Wall Flower's cell. It reads two am, on the dot. Angel follows the line of my arm, shrugs, and finishes his cookie, neatly swiping loose sugar off his fingertips with a quick lick. "What?" This time he sounds much more like himself, the Bronx accent tinging his voice. I feel an urge to ask him to say dog3, but manage to shake it off.

"Nothing, just... I'm not usually down here this time of the morning. In fact," I tap my wrist thoughtfully, "This is about when I usually manage to really get to sleep."

Warren says nothing, instead noisily biting into another cookie. He smiles apologetically, and looks at Wall Flower. She glowers back, her powers under control now that Hank has Leech installed in the room that shares a wall with her cell. I flop down onto a harsh plastic chair, pulling up another for my feet, and have just about managed to settle agreeably down when Warren finally speaks.

"Why do you have so much trouble sleeping?"

I open an eye but my body, once relaxed, makes it's intentions of immobility clear. I mumble an answer, suddenly tired again.

"Nightmares. Telepathic light sleeper. 'Bout it, really."

Warren nods, his wings tucked back as he straddles a chair in front of me. I discern his arms folded across the hideously yellow plastic with his face nestled securely, watching me intently, before surrendering to the aura of peace that seems to encompass my body and mind.

wWw

Warren relaxed, his muscles smarting from the tight control he had just exercised over Tris. The light empathic responses he had managed to initiate in her before had encouraged him to practice on his own, tuning the skills by trying to 'project', as Xavier called it, memories of extreme lethargy to the younger children in the school.

He had met with great success once he figured out how to impose those emotions onto other's minds, in this case creating a sense of peaceful lethargy.

Tris was propped against the wall, her feet propped up level with her waist on a chair as her head leaned backwards, mouth slightly open and the tiniest hint of dark iris visible under her loosely closed lids. Her chest, now covered in an old flannel shirt Logan had tossed her when they returned to the mansion, rose evenly and slowly. She murmured, already deeply asleep.

"She'll get a crick in her neck sleeping like that."

Jubilee was once again framed in the doorway. Warren started guiltily and looked away from Tris. He must seem foolish, staring at her while she slept. "Hey Jubes."

"You should really take her upstairs, to her room. Trust me, you don't want to deal with a stiff Tris tommorrow."

Warren stood, stretching his arms and spreading his wings. The absolute ease with his mutation still astonished him, the fact that he could fully extend the white feathers without stares of hatred and fear a novelty. He looked down at the diminuative Asian. "She just got to sleep. I don't want to wake her up."

"Carry her then. I would do it, but she's much too big a girl for me to heft around." Jubilee seemed to think it entirely natural that he would agree with her. Her yellow pajamas hurt his eyes in the bright flourescent lights. He winced minutely away, trying to think of an excuse.

"I can't leave the prisoner."

Jubilee rolled her eyes. "Duh, she's _locked up_. Warren, she had Leech right next to her. She can't do anything. Only reason she got out earlier was because Bobby was watching her, and Leech was still in the back room with Hank." She seemed unrepentant as Warren shushed her hurriedly, sending another burst of calming emotion towards Tris as she stirred and started to open her eyes. She lapsed directly back into sleep as he glared at Jubilee, who glared back. Her whisper was still louder than he liked.

"Are you keeping her asleep? She's going to rip your wings off for trophies if you don't knock it off."

Warren closed his eyes and tried to reach out for Tris' mind. It was astonishing easy compared, to say, merely earlier this evening. Or perhaps it was because she was asleep. Whatever the reason, she was only exuding the most flat-line emotions of peace and sheer exhaustion. He opened his eyes and looked askance at Jubilee as she reached out a finger to touch his bare chest.

"You," _poke_, "need," _poke_, "to," _poke_, "take her up to her bed." _poke, poke, poke_. She stepped back again, crossing her arms over her breasts. Angel stared at her, caught between increduality and humor. She tapped her foot and glared harder, rolling her eyes when he still remained where he was.

"So do I have to motivate your cute feathery butt with a sparkler? Pick her up, Angel man." She stalked from the room, hips swaying and arms still crossed, throwing him one last exasperated look before rounding the corner that lead back to the medical center. Warren turned to see Tris stirring again. Moving a few steps closer, he cautiously slid an arm between the back of the chair and her shoulders. She murmered again, started to open her eyes, and looked up into his face. The muscles that had initially stiffened at his touch relaxed.

"Mmmm... Warren... Tell Hank about Melissa will you?"

Warren nodded, and then answered verbally when he saw her eye shut again. "Sure Tris. I'll tell him." _::Typically confusing. Who's Melissa?::_

"Th..anks" The brief pause between the two syllables was accompanied by his team mate snuggling against him, tucking her head against his neck as he crouched to lift her. Angel decided to take the movement as a tacit agreement, and slid his other arm underneath her knees, standing to cradle the shorter woman against his chest. For someone so tall she was astonishingly light compared to what he would imagine the short but sturdy Jubilee, or equally tall but also much more voluptous Jean would weigh. Her bare feet swung against his hip, and then, with another murmur, Tris tucked her toes into his loose jeans pocket. Warren, as he carefully manuevered the curled mutant through the door, wondered if partially prehensile toes or light muscle mass were part of her mutation.

"Where 're y' goin'?"

Logan blocked his route, blinking and forming his hand into a fist. Warren stopped, opened his mouth to explain, but was interupted by a quiet and completely rational comment from Tris in his arms. "He's taking me up. 'Night Logan."

Wolverine relaxed. Looking at Warren suspiciously, he seemed to come to a decision. "Goo' night elfling." The short Canadian barely had to stoop as he stepped up to Warren and brushed his mouth against Tris' hair. She giggled, an oddly young sound, and snuggled further into Warren, rubbing her cheek against his neck. Logan stepped aside, oblivious to Angel's stare of disbelief. "Don't close her door, Scooter and I 're goin' to be checkin' beds tonigh'. Th' kids 're always out after a team meetin'."

Warren nodded, and began to move past him in the narrow hallway when Logan thumped the front of his shoulder. Taken off balance, Angel had a moment where the possiblity of Wolverine attacking him sprinted through his mind before the smile on the normally stoic mutant's face registered. Logan thumped him again, and this time Warren recognized it as the masculine approval it was meant to be.

"Y' did good ou' there kid, for a wet-behind-th'-wings mutie. Tris ought'a be happy."

He smiled again, showed eyeteeth to rival Tris' for ferocity factors, and turned to slink down the hallway. Warren felt, quite suddenly, very much at home. It was as if the final acceptance of Logan had broken the last link between him and his former life of hiding, an existance of insults and sideways glances. Tightening his grip on his partner, he started towards the stairs that led to the kitchen with new meaning. He had finally come home, after two months of being a house guest.

xXx

I could feel the warmth of Warren's chest as I shifted closer to him. I was perfectly awake, had been since he touched my shoulder blades where they leaned against my impromptu bed. But the idea of him carrying me up to my bed was far too attractive to turn down. Besides, I was tired, not to mention sore. His quiet heart beat quickens when Logan shows up unexpectedly, but calms as we climb the back stairs. Good, he's not planning to shoulder his way through the crowded kitchen. My head bounces slightly as he steps up the stairs, and he muffles a curse as his wing hit the still open door to my room. The cool softness of my bed is imprinted by his knee as well as my body when he puts me gently down, supporting the back of my head.

I cannot help but compare this to the other times I have regained full consciousness while being dropped uncerimoneously onto a hard mattress, the next sound that of a door being slammed.

"Warren?"

I can smell the distictive smell that he carries with him, a combination of Old Spice4, clean warm skin, and a hint of the cloying dandruff from his wing feathers. His breathing is loud in the small room as he answers.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. See you tommorrow." I want to say more, but the impression of calmness and peace, and a smidge of... what was that? Love? wash over me as I turn and slide back into darkness, the soft click of my door closing bringing me back to partial consciousness. A kinetic pull later, the door opens and I slide into oblivion.

1 Yup, this is actually a funny little insider thing for Californians... we pronounce it Calf(as in the baby cow calf)-ill-lorn-nee-ya, just for fun. Who you callin' insane? ;) 2 Yes... I stole it... props to _Aquamarine_, a movie which I enjoyed only for the sarcastic remarks (you believe in genies?!) lol 3 It's how you can tell if someone is from the Bronx area. If you ask them to say the word 'dog', as in the canine variety, and they pronounce it 'daawg'... ding ding ding, you got yourself a winner 4 A deoderant/cologne brand name for guys. Nice, at least I think so - not overpowering like some


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: **All I have to say to Marvel is, this is a perfectly //cringes from Remy's glare//... well, almost good, story. However, seeing as how I am not allowed to have any say in what they decide to print, I can only retort 'Chump don' want no hep, chump don' get no hep', yet another thing which I don't own... //sigh// Depressing, isn't it?

**Gratitudes: **Oh you are wonderful!! I bow before your sparkling reviewing skills, and distribute advent chocolates on bended knee. You people make it all worth while for me, and I love you for it //sniffs// **Arden: **Thanks so much for the beta! And no prob for the support... least I could do... just glad you're alright. //glomps again with Beast// **LadyOfThePlains: **Quick question; do you read Mercedes Lackey//shrugs// just your name I guess... Your review was greatly appreciated - extra stars and sparkles for you ;o) - and I'm honored to have interested you in my story. I try //grins// **LorrieDriver: **Super happy here! Again, warm fuzzies are rampant at my place right now from the wonderful reviews... you people keep me going... Hope you like this chapter as much!

**To My Most Noble Readers: **//glomps Arden with candy canes and a Beast dressed as Santa// Lets spread some holiday cheer people, starting with props to the wonderful Arden! Manymanymanymany (perhaps an exponent is in order? Something like ten to the millionth?) thanks to Arden for beta-ing this for me over Christmas break - I meant to have it a present to all you happy folk, but then stuff happened... as usual... you need only know it involved a tortoise, my little brother, and our yearly power outage. //shudders// The good doctor McCoy gets a starring role in this chapter and the next (with permission from the mutant himself, and his wonderful keeper Arden). Where was I... ah yes, actually telling you about this chapter! Gotcha! So, as if all this Tris/Warren fluffiness wasn't enough, I have decided to be bold and add something completely unexpected... wait for it... A PLOT!!! Yes, A Plot is actually in the works. This is only the beginning of a coherent storyline involving our... well, **my** two most favorite people... mutants... whatever. So, if it seems like something is OOC for Tris, please remember that all will be partially explained - next chapter.

The seagull is a NIGHTMARE!!! Please, come help me set an oil spill in my birdbath, or something!! Not only has the fish smell gotten worse, but I think it is brain-washing the robins into forming an army. Be veeeerrry careful my friends. Remy is clueless, as usual, but Vina has taken to digging through my pantry in search of 'zat 'orrible smell'

**Chapter Seventeen**

Okay, let's try that again.

Lifting eyelids... check

Opening mouth and breathing... check

Stretching legs... check

Moving arms... aha. Downright painful check.

Right, I have the problem isolated. Arm, problem. Me, fix. Me, need to study English language better before turn into cave man. Woman. Whatever.

I hate Sundays. Alright, I'll be more specific. I hate Sundays, when Kurt lives right below me and gets up at four in the morning to do... whatever it is Catholics do at four in the morning. Urgh.

Wait... is that... Warren? The hint of a dream rolls away from me as my teammate's mind turns to something else, his shielding slamming up when I gently insert an inquiry as to his mental health.

Alright, that's a little odd. His mind recognizes me as a friend, but still automatically cuts me off when I try to probe even the tiniest bit. full stop, new sentence Still, that initial recognition when he's asleep is a big step for someone with his level of subconscious mental walling.

I stretch out on the bed, mentally hearing Kurt talking to himself in German down below before I put up my own shields, leaving only the light padding of his feet audible to my sensitive hearing.

How did I manage to get up here... wait... it's all very blurry, that's unusual for me. Normally I can recall practically everything up until I fall into REM mode. Something about Warren... the door... very tired...

Why, that mismanaging feather duster. He used his empathy on me!

Swinging out of bed, I wince at the twinge my wrist gives. Not unmanageable, but it hurts. I can see pale scar tissue already forming pinkly around the edge of the cut as I gingerly unwrap the damp bandage and flex my fingers. No damage beyond the superficial and a truly magnificent bruise.

I kinetically call a bottle of Tylenol over - I'm allergic to ibuprofen - and dry swallow1 two tablets. My gag reflex is generally either non-existent or very slight, and today was no exception as the white pills scraped slightly on my throat lining. After a few sputters, I manage to get them the rest of the way down. The light from my balcony is still that of stars and a quarter moon, without even a hint of dawn to illuminate the faux forest decorating. I glance up at the corkboard over my tidy desk, barely making out the outline of lists and photos, mentally cursing. There is absolutely no chance of me getting any more sleep this morning, not in the meager hours of rapidly approaching dawn.

Groaning inwardly at the vulgarities of religion, I throw my covers off and walk jerkily over to my desk, switching on the light and sitting down. Absently rubbing the bite mark from Warren the night before, I flip open a textbook. Might as well catch up on my online Calculus class while I'm awake.

Two hours later, along with what feels like four cases of pencil lead and most of my calculator's battery, I simply collapse into a coma induced by mathitis, or as I like to think of it, an overdose of numbers. The dawn sneaking through my windows finally sends a brave ray across my scribbled notes and calculations as I wearily put down the last answer. Whoever thought integration of ninth degree equations2 either needs a lobotomy, or already had one. I toss the pencil in the general direction of my partially open drawer, meanwhile kinetically turning on the shower. I hope Logan doesn't have a Danger Room session today, I don't think anyone will be up for it after last night.

A scuffle in Warren's room shows that he heard my shower go on, and I catch the briefest flash of his room before I withdraw. Much as I keep tabs on everyone around me, watching and listening to them dress and brush their teeth doesn't give me kicks and giggles by a long shot. A rear-view mirror sort of long shot when I next catch Scott strongly projecting a picture of a very sleep tousled Jean. I hate it when he does that, but he projects so loudly it just bulls its way through my shielding.

I repair the tear in my walls with a shudder. Not that the couple itself bothers me, but I have absolutely no desire to know what they are doing at six in the morning to make Jean smile at him like that. I'll have to talk to her about teaching Scott some 'pathic manners.

_Tris, I believe Hank would like to see you, as soon as possible _

Speaking of telepathic courtesy...

_Professor, I'm fine. No broken bones, just a cut. Besides_ (and I hope he can hear my snort of disbelief) _my mental health is not exactly within Henry's perfew _

_We need you to talk with the mutant you brought in _

Oh. Well, now I feel very dumb. Imagine them being interested in my health, mental or otherwise. I shake off the depressing emotion and shrug to myself. Makes a certain amount of sense. We often do this with prisoners, giving them someone that they can hate - generally whoever captured them - and then introducing them to the caring and level-headed Professor as an optional liaison. Generally gets better information with less stress on everyone.

A loud _bamph_ from below indicates that Kurt has left for church, and the faint crackling overtone to his teleportation tells me his image inducer is on. Pulling my attention back to the conversation at hand, I 'path a quick beam of assent before pulling on some clothing. I manage a messy bun with my hair, and make my leisurely way down to the medical lab. Hank and the professor are waiting for me.

"Hey. She said anything?"

Xavier shakes his head, but Beast places a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Be careful, Tris. She is highly unstable and possibly neurotic."

"Gotcha. She's nuts."

Henry smiles widely at my reiteration. "I suppose that is one of the numerous commonly used expressions for the condition, yes."

I pat the thick furry blue mat that covers the good doctor's arms, and smile back. "Nuts. Insane, out of her mind, a few sandwhiches short of a picnic. Totally ready now."

Xavier closes his eyes slightly, but rolls his wheelchair backwards a little to give me more room. I pass through the first set of doors to the isolation cell where - Melissa? - has been moved. The opaque glass reveals a blurry crimson red outline. Wall Flower appears to have changed into a pair of the numerous surgical scrubs that Henry keeps hanging around the lab. Pushing a button, I slide through the automatic door without a backwards glance, closing it with a telekinetic push behind me. Wall Flower presses herself against the wall and eyes me suspiciously.

"Nice place you got here. I really like the decoration."

Sarcasm is what usually helps our more difficult prisoners open up to the Professor. The more they hate me, the more likely they are to oblige the professor, just to spite their captor. I dislike the lies I'm about to tell, yet understand the need.

"So, I'm here to interrogate you. Your choice - tea torture," and I indicate a tray sliding through the cat flap in the wall, "or just talking. You aren't ADD are you3? Only, green tea is all we ever get here. Something about the oxidizing agents, or such nonsense." I smile, pointedly showing my fangs before gracefully sitting, crossing my legs and pointing to the chair across from me. When Melissa remains stationary, I tut, clicking my tongue.

"Tisk tisk, how rude."

She screams as I kinetically pick her up and settle her into the chair, placing just enough pressure to keep her in the seat. She strains against invisible barriers for a moment before relenting. I smirk again, shoving sympathy deep into a dark and sheltered part of my soul.

"So, my dear." Leaning forwards, I assume more aggressive body language. Shoulders hunched, looking up through narrowed eyes, feet apart and tensed on my toes. Perhaps a little more subtle than the average I'm-so-much-more-important-than-you position of looming so many seem to prefer, but I find the animalistic pounce-and-strike pose works better for me. I'm just not physically intimidating enough to pull it off otherwise. "Who are you?"

Wall Flower remains motionless, but the relevant information flashes across her public brain. Once again sheltering that part of myself that screams that I am taking advantage of my mutation for ill gains, I pick it out.

"Melissa, right? Wall Flower, 26 years old, orphaned, younger sister who is not a mutant, thinks her mutation is embarrassing." Looking up, I see her face and decide to change tactics. She is losing her temper too fast, and obviously straining to manifest her mutation if the drop of sweat trickling past her ear is anything to go by.

"So, are you comfortable here?"

Still no answer. She must be literally biting her tongue.

"See this?" I unwind the bandage from my arm, and show her the slash. "Nice one, isn't it? Of course, my healing will take care of it." Warning bells go off in my head a moment before the sitting girl lunges for my arm. Gripping it tightly with one hand, she trails the other across white scarring that covers the underside. I resist the urge to use telekinesis, and decide to wait and see what happens.

"Demon-spawn."

Well, nice voice. Her rich contralto differs so from her high-pitched screaming it might be a different person. Of course, the content could be better. I turn my head a little and smile inquisitively, ignoring her nails as they press into my arm.

"Please explain."

Her blue eyes flash as they near mine. "You are the daughter of the devil. You have the eyes, the ears, and," she flips my arm upwards again, tracing a single white line leading up my arm, following the vein. "You are a suicide." Her thumb touches my cut, and I involuntarily flinch as something cold runs through my body. Must be some exposed nerve endings in there4.

I pry my arm away.

"On the contrary, I am a masochist. Two totally different things luv. Now, if you could sit back down," and the chair sweeps up behind her, pushing harshly at the back of her knees, "I have to go. I'm just a free-lance agent, and my least favorite employer is about to take care of you. The man is a softee, a cripple." As I spit the word out, I see something in her face change; she wants to like this man because I evince so much hatred towards him.

Typical.

One point Tris, zero Melissa. I imagine the Professor will manage to sway the situation even more in our favor. As I leave, Wall Flower still restrained kinetically in her chair, I console myself with the fact that I didn't really tell a lie - I am after all a free-lance, as are all the x-men in a way, and seeing as how Xavier is my only employee, I suppose saying he is my favorite and my least favorite employer in the same breath is equally true. Hank watches me sadly, but gives a furry thumbs-up as I walk out of the cell and back up to my room. A hot shower sounds so amazingly nice right now. Thank goodness my cat-like appearance doesn't include an irrational dislike of water.

Imagine all the shower time I would miss. Not to mention the excuse for wasting a perfectly good resource in the pursuit of cleanliness.

xXx

Half an hour and a hot shower later, and I've managed to actually tame my hair into a semblance of control without liberal amounts of hairspray. I hear someone - Warren, likely - walk softly by my door as I examine my reflection critically. Sometimes I look in the mirror and honestly wonder what Hermione is complaining about, when she not only looks better than this, but has a wand and the talent to fix all frizziness with a single word. Wonder if Wanda could manage a permanent straightening spell for me, or if her talents only extend to hexing. That is, if we ever managed to get on good enough terms to discuss my hair that is. Which is likely to be the day I marry Blob, come to think of it.

_Tris, if you are finished, Storm has saved aside some toast for you... never mind, Bobby just came in _

Without a second's thought, I fly out my door, snagging a sweatshirt on the way.

_Icecube is SO not getting my breakfast! Tell Storm to hang on _

Pulling the enormous tent of fabric over my head and rolling up the sleeves as I turn the stairway corner, I miss Warren on the first step by a mere inch. An inch gained by my kinetic shove, no less. His shocked ice blue eyes - so like Bobby's in color, yet the opposite in their ability to express his every thought - widen as my head automatically turns to check on him. His mouth drops slightly, wings spreading in the tight space as he tries to regain the balance I offset so precipitously. I grab his arm and haul upwards slightly, too stunned by our near collision to use telekinesis again. Wings still spread, his free hand lunges for the nearest anchor in the steep and partially dark stairwell and attaches around my waist. I jerk forward, his weight on my arm now abetted by the force of his hand on my back. I pull, he pulls, and we both manage to arrive safe and sound several stairs lower than we started. A brief moment of stunned silence, and then Warren snatches his hand away from my back guiltily.

"Oh, erm, sorry about that. Just grabbed onto the nearest... thing... I guess. You sleep alright?"

His ears turn slightly red, although his eyes, nearly level with mine as he shuffles on the stair below me, are still wide and bewildered by our unanticipated dance downwards. I let go of his arm, which results on another lunge on his part as he tries to step backwards away from me. His hand clamps down on my shoulder. I reach for his elbow, belatedly realize I'm a telekinetic for a reason, and give him a little shove towards me to balance his weight more fully. Rather unfortunately, he is unprepared for the extra help, and bumps into me. This time I'm the one unready, falling backward underneath him before a kinetic cocoon catches us as we jolt to a stop.

I blink and rub my shoulder where it nicked a stair. Warren lies spread-eagled face down, his body across my knees and thighs and a wing obscuring us. Angel grunts slightly as he levers himself up onto his hands and knees, still across my legs and blinks at me. We both lay at an uncomfortable angle on the stairs, his feet hardly anchored at all on the worn wood, knees drawn up and wedged in the corridor. Making a mental note to put carpeting down, I shove a feather away from my face and stare back, both of us far too shocked to do anything. He looks up at the sound of bubble gum popping, and I see an entirely new shade of red manifest across the pale features, his hair flopping down over one eye. I hardly have time to reflect just how good he looks with longer hair when a shriek interrupts me.

"Ohmygod, Logan is so going to kill you guys!! Chica, why didn't you invite me in for some fun?"

Allowing my head to smack back onto the step, I look upwards at a bright yellow jacket and the inside of a darkly tanned nose. Jubilee's raised eyebrow and grin complete the picture as a sneaker clad toe lifts and shakes slowly back and forth in front of my face.

"Naughty, naughty, Tris... imagine, in full daylight, and in front of the Junior dorms too. Shame on you."

Diane's head peeks over the railing. "Damn, Tris, couldn't you do this somewhere where it doesn't block the whole exit? Ah mean..." a trace of her drawling southern heritage seeps through in her speech as she shrugs. I hardly have time to recover before Kitty's pert valley girl accent and nose appear on the opposite side of the stairwell.

"Like, totally there with you girlfriend. She ought to get a room... like, at least she could ask to borrow one of ours, if hers is too weird or something." Pink nail polish flashes as she waves a delicate hand lazily. I struggle upright, pulling Warren with me as yet another member of the fearsome foursome appears. Rahne seems to be filling in for Amara as the final corner of the quartette5.

"If that's the case, I think she should be friendly and share, don't you agree girls?" Her sharp incisors grin as the rest of the mutants hovering over us agree heartily. Warren's face as he stands show an astonishing myriad of emotions as he stands. Embarrassment, anger, disgust, and then the tiniest moment of wistfulness. Avoiding eye contact with our spies for the moment, he holds out a hand for me to grab and hauls upward, helping me to gain my footing on the stairs.

"Morning, Kitty, Rahne, Jubilee, Diane." His face has wiped clean and he looks at Diane with the expression he always wears around the demonic female, that of secret understanding for her appearance and pity for it as well. Rahne pointedly stares at his hand still wrapped around mine. Noticing the direction of her eyes, he drops his hold and turns back down the stairs. "See you at breakfast Tris."

It drives me crazy sometimes, that shielding of his.

Coward

I know he can't hear me, but the 'path releases a little tension in the air as those present giggle at my mental comment. Jubilee steps down jauntily to my level, patting my shoulder and sending me a pouty look while shaking her head. Rahne on the other hand barks out her approval

"Bout time ya jumped him. It's not like we don't see you two exchanging eyes all the time. He's your partner and all, but I don't seem to remember you staying up in Piotr's room until one in the morning, and he was your boyfriend."

I feel an obscure need to imitate Darth Vader and close a few of Diane's airways.

"Guys..." I flinch slightly at Kitty's condescending stare. I decided to amend my choice of words. "Girls, nothing was happening. I was trying to beat Bobby to my breakfast, and didn't see Warren around the corner."

Jubilee stands askance. "Tristen Colgate, Warren is over six inches tall, is he not?"

I roll my eyes. "And seeing as how that is precisely how deep this first dilapidated and squeaky step is, I would say that a minimum of five feet and some odd inches of his gorgeous handsomeness, topped by a ten-foot wing span, was fully visible." She raises her eyebrow again and pops her gum. I yawn pointedly.

"I was pulling on my sweatshirt."

Rahne steps closer and sniffs. Grinning, Kitty and Diane approach as well. I suddenly wonder if this is how a wolf pack looks as they close in upon a caribou... or perhaps a rabbit would be a better analogy in this case.

"Tris, that ain't your sweatshirt. Not only could you wear just that, and still be better covered than most, but it doesn't even hardly smell like you."

I look down at the baggy black sack hanging down to my knees. "Uh, yes it is. Does." They look at me, obviously skeptical. I look upwards, as though praying for patience.

"Tell me one thing, if it doesn't smell like me, who does it smell like?" Rahne sniffs again before declaring to general outcry, "Warren." I stand perfectly still and stare at them. Jubilee understands it first.

"Oooh, chica, you must have learned from the best." She chucks me affectionately under the chin as she stalks gracefully past on the stairs. Diane and Kitty understand simultaneously a moment later, and throw me amused if dirty looks as they follow their retreating leader. Rahne looks confused, raising a hand to pat at her perfect auburn waves. "What..." Her face changes as she looks once again at the sweatshirt.

"Oh yeah. He has a little trouble wearing stuff like that, doesn't he?"

I decide on sarcasm. "No, of course not Rahne. Ten-foot wings with delicate feathers just love being shoved into a tiny circumference - with a hood." A small if potent wave of remorse washes over me. Rahne doesn't deserve that from me, even if she ought to have spoken up when Jubes and the rest were teasing us.

She tightens her jaw and stands next to me. I angle my head upward to see her eyes better. "Look, Tris, it was an honest mistake."

"It was harassment. Rahne, you out of all those girls knew exactly what was going on." At her purposefully blank stare, I sniff the air. "Smell any pheromones?" Her eyes widen, before she blurts out, "Of course!!"

Frozen, my next breath seems to be blocked for a moment as Rahne averts her eyes slightly. "Not you, but Warren. That's why we came out. I smelled him, but not you, but you were there, and his scent was so close to yours, and then you smelled startled, and it scared me. So I ran out, and they ran out, and well... we just... well..." She finally engages my eyes almost desperately. "Generally, when it's just one person with a scent like that, something else is going on besides, uh... you know."

I cross my arms. "Warren? Come off it Rahne." Her reticence is almost amusing, if also disturbing.

She nods her head in agreement, and I resist the urge to peek a little deeper. I decide a verbal question may be in order. "How badly?" She looks confused, cocking her head like a puppy before shrugs a little.

"Nothing like what, say, Remy and Rogue give off, but enough to make me wonder what was, ah, going on."

"But Rahne... Warren?"

I catch enough of her gist to understand what she was attempting to delicately drive at. If only it were Jubilee with the super senses, she would've blurted it out to everyone long ago. Yet somehow, the idea that Rahne thought Warren capable of such a thing, when nobody suspected Piotr, not once, makes something inside me twist painfully.

"Rahne, Warren is someone I would trust fully not to rape me, no matter what. Even last night, when that mutant was practically dousing him in lust, he never even tried to force me. God!!" I suddenly feel anger boiling up at the mansion residents. They always want to protect me from the wrong things. I feel my temper rising to the surface, and as I look up, Rahne flinches away.

"Oh yes, jump, that's right, jump from the girl with demons in her. The slitted pupils, pointed ears. Demon-spawn, am I? Do you flinch when Remy looks at you? What about Jamie, does his multiplying bother you? When you stare at your hand and see it growing fur, does poor Rahne shiver, just a little?" I snarl, unable to control the bitter hatred I was unaware I even possessed until this point. Everyone's inability to see me, to help me. The niggling voice in the back of my head saying what about Logan and Warren, Beast, Jubes, the Professor, the names joined by memories of my covering things up as I turned help away. Yet it is all swiftly silenced by another wave of rage as my slightly enhanced senses pick up Rahne's fear.

"Tris... it's not like that..."

I tremble slightly with the urge to hurt something. I stamp my foot hard on the stair, and feel the pain with a morbid satisfaction as I manage to cage the snarl that tries to erupt out of me. Then, quite suddenly, the feeling is gone. I inhale sharply and try to refocus my eyes, turning to face the bottom of the stairs. My ankles feel wrong, so very wrong - like Jell-O. My hand scraping along the wall hurts, and then I see blood trickle from the re-opened wound on my wrist. The world hitches, turns sideways, re-adjusts. I shiver as I accused Rahne of shivering, a deep gnawing discomfort overlaid with terror. What the hell is wrong with me? I bend over and retch, clutching my abdomen. Rahne whimpers behind me.

"Get... Hank!!"

My eyes are swimming with circles, spots, odd shapes rotating. Logan appears at the bottom of the stairs, takes one look at me, and yells. I feel myself falling, a strange sensation as I wrap myself in a kinetic cushion that shatters as I hit the first step. Logan yells again as I tumble down step after step in what feels like slow motion, landing in a heap at his feet. His arms tuck around me, but I try to shove him away. I need Hank, where is he? I need a doctor, something is wrong, so very very wrong.

"Tris, just hold on... oh shit, I can't feel a pulse."

What are they talking about? Why can't Warren feel my pulse, it's right there, my heart is beating. Too many people around me. Where's Hank? Wait, what are you doing? Warren's hand on my neck is pushed aside and Logan pushes painfully against my trachea as he digs a broad thumb into my jugular. The pressure must be cutting off the blood to my brain, why else would I be feeling so dizzy?

"Tris, kid, hang on. Fuck, Scott, ge' Henry!! Warren, hold 'er down. Shit, Tris, breathe!!"

"No, Warren - we can't give her CPR!"

"Jean, where's my adrenaline!!"

"Kid, 'old her. Don' let 'er go!"

My muscles spasm, my back arching off the floor. I can't feel anything, nothing at all. Everything is turning around me… Jean is grabbing at me, get off… the professor, easy to avoid him… Remy, go away… wait, Warren. Why is Warren holding me so tight? Warren, let go, I don't want to hurt you, I need to heal myself, why are you holding me, Warren, let go, let GO!!

The shudder of Warren's body hitting the wall opposite me explodes in my body as painfully as the sudden return of my mind to physical contact. Pain spreads everywhere as I slump back down on the floor, panting. Turning on my side, I try to scream as a rib clearly moves as two separate pieces within my chest, but the sound can't come out. Something sharp pokes at my neck, and I throw it away. What are they doing, trying to inject me? Who do they think they are? Voices explode in my head, everyone is screaming and crying in their minds even as the room is deadly silent around me.

Logan is still gripping me, but I have to know Warren is alright. Why did I throw him again? This time the prick in my neck is far too sudden to anticipate, and Henry's large hand pushes me on my back. I resist. Warren, did I hurt him?

Another sort of black spot spins in front of me as I open my eyes to see Hank's mouth moving.

"Logan, stabilize her. Miss Grey, where are the clamps!! Oh, my stars and garters - Logan, I thought you said it was a shallow cut." His normally deep and quiet voice is anxious. I turn my head, feeling oddly detached, and stare at the uncovered gash in my forearm, the already healing cut. The large sweatshirt pools around me, incasing my arms and upper body, obscuring my view of my own arm until Logan lifts it for Hank.

The gaping, bleeding, ten-inch gash? What?

"Tris, relax. Don' fight it kid, we're gonna take care'a ya'. Jus' le' yourself slide a litt'le."

Logan sounds so worried, but I'm too tired to really do much about it. I try to turn my head the other way, to see Warren crawling back towards me on his hands and knees, his lip split and the feathers on his wings fluffed. One primary hangs broken halfway down. He crouches next to me, and before I can try to move my hand, covers it with his own. A trickle of blood pools on his eyebrow, then finally drips towards me. I close my eyes, expecting to feel it hit my face, warm, smooth, but instead fall downwards towards a dark place, a place without lights and only a soft bed…

Whoohoo!! So, tell me, how was my near-death scene? Believable? Well, as I mentioned earlier, all will be revealed in time…

1 You guys ever had to do this? Not a fun experience, let me tell ya

2 I... hate... calculus. Cannot understand, cannot do, cannot like, had trouble not plunging a blunt stake through my teacher's forehead in fact. How I managed to get an B in both semesters is one of the universe's enduring mysteries. Personally, I think maybe my Scott muse took pity on me and finished my homework when I wasn't looking... because half of it I don't remember doing, much less turning in. Erkle, enough math bashing and personal remembrances

3 Sometimes ADD symptoms include a reverse reaction to caffeine - it acts as a sedative rather than a stimulant.

4 A deep cut may often have exposed nerves that react very strongly to stimuli because they are in direct contact with whatever is making them respond. This can include a feeling of icy coldness, or oppositely searing heat, with a simple touch. Or both, which always drove me crazy.

5 Right, going to shamelessly refer to an earlier chapter. As I'm sure all remember (except me, the author, who had to go back and check...) summer vacation has started, and only the bare skeleton of the Junior team is left - most students have gone home, including all of the younger kids (the ones just there for schooling, that is). Amara went somewhere - unfortunately, I have no idea where, just that she is currently unavailable for this fic. ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **//giggles// Guess what I got for Mixmasday... no, no, not the rights to Marvel, still don't own those... TRUFFLES//distributes to all and sundry// Enjoy!!

**Announcement: **Yeah, I was thinking that my beginnings were starting to get too long, but that I was actually shorting my wonderful readers all I wanted to say... so the thanks have been moved downstairs to the bottom of the fic. But I'll take the extra chance to say THANK YOU!!! I was having fun today, checking my stats, and not only have over 2000 people read at least part of this fic, but I even have a few readers who nominated it as a favorite! So thanks to you, you know who you are, I love you so much!! Hugs from Logan, Remy, or Warren, whichever you like best (the premium group hug is offered to those who review... j/k, join in!)

**Summery-ish Moment: **Arden, I praise thee! Ignore me, I'm just a weirdo nut running on too little sleep //twitchtwitch// but give my awesome beta her due - without her praise, support, and excellent feedback this fic would likely be spiraling down into insanity, not to mention numerous typos!! How she puts up with me... //sigh// Many thanks luv, and hug Henry for me :-)

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

It seems all I do lately is wake up. This is the third time in twelve hours - although the last two times, I don't remember having a crowd around me, or a severe case of cottonmouth, not to mention the fact that someone is stitching my wrist. Oh, and just for fun, let's include a bandage around my lower abdomen that makes me wonder how women could put up with corsets.

"Tris?"

Oh, yes, begin a to-do list. Kiss Warren.

"Tris?"

Ugh, I really really really don't want to talk right now. It feels like someone... well, threw me down a flight of stairs, actually. Funny world, isn't it?

"Logan, you should go. You can come see her later." Jean's voice is understanding, soft, and compelling. Drat, now I have to speak up.

"No..."

Is that really me? I don't feel that bad. Coughing, I dislodge the oxygen tubing in my nostrils. Thankfully they didn't give me a tracheal tube1, that would have been difficult to remove even with telekinesis. And honestly, I don't feel up to lifting a paperclip. Beast's hand slides into the small of my back, pushing lightly, and I struggle into a sitting position, accompanied by a splitting headache.

I blink, trying to refocus my eyes, and settle on Warren. He is standing a few feet back from the bed, accompanied by Logan, with an expression of sheer relief printed across his face. A purpling bruise over his right eye accompanied by a suture shaped something like an x mars his usually smooth skin. My eyes drift to his lip, split painfully on the right side. A swift sweep of the rest of his body seems to indicate normal health otherwise.

"Tris, what happened?"

Logan nudges my teammate with his shoulder, hitting Warren on his upper arm. He jumps, and glares at the top of Wolverine's head. Logan looks up with an equally ferocious stare, before turning to me.

wWw

Warren didn't know what to think. This was too many emergency situations in too little time. First the battle, and then Tris falls down the dormitory stairs for no apparent reason other than the fact that her injury had been mysteriously amplified. And now she was blinking and looking at him as if she had merely fallen asleep at the breakfast table - a little embarrassed, a trifle irritated, but no apparent pain. Which couldn't be possible, considering even Warren could tell from the ultrasound2 that her lowest rib was fully separated into two pieces. A full break, Jean had called it. Beast had managed to touch the two pieces of bone together before binding her abdomen tightly, and everyone seemed to think that would be enough in her case.

Warren had averted his eyes during the process, watching the relay screen as Jean manipulated the wand lightly over her side. He was still surprised that the two doctors allowed him to stay. Angel had in fact turned to follow Logan from the room when Henry started to gently cut the sweatshirt from her lax body before Jean called him back.

"Stay... what if she goes again? Here." The delicate red-nailed hand had drawn him back to his teammate's side, placing his hand over Tris'. "Try to keep your contact strong, alright?" Beast nodded his assent before slowly peeling the black cloth from his patient's body, rolling her slim form. "Drawing her back into her body as expediently as you did most certainly prevented possibly severe neurological and mental damage. Avoiding a repeat possibility is of the utmost importance. While her current health makes aggressive treatment inadvisable, I would rather not create the need later."

Warren nodded. His split lip felt tender, balanced by the tight pull of a butterfly suture on a gash just above his eyebrow. Both had been sustained in the scramble for Tris, when he had been thrown backwards from her. Luckily nothing vital had been injured, and if it weren't for his face colliding with a table, he would have escaped unscathed. He winced as he gently palpated the puffy bruise forming over his eye. Beast said he had a concussion as well, whatever that meant.

Warren had earlier decided that in his current state of shock, nodding his head and standing still were the best bet. He felt that continuing this behavior may still be advisable, considering the none-too-gentle shove Logan had just given him.

Tris looked at him, shadows under her eyes and a hospital gown covering her. She showed the first signs of pain a moment later as she shifted, trying to pull herself fully upright, hissing slightly as her nostrils flared.

Hank watched her cautiously, thumbing a switch next to the bed as Tris winced again. Logan shuffled his feet irritably as his surrogate daughter turned to look at him with softened eyes.

"Morphine? 'Enry, is tha' a goo' idea?" Doctor McCoy twitched his hand, out of sight for Tris, to the grimace of pain rapidly receeding from her face.

"S'all right Logan." Tris blinked slightly, before regaining the alert facet in her eye. "Thanks, Hank. Not too much though, right?" She partially surged upwards before seeming to decide against the idea of sitting up more.

Logan and Henry chuckled, the deep tones melding together easily. Jean merely smiled before fussing over the younger girl's stitches, wrapping a length of gauze cautiously around the injury.

Angel shook his head. Tris almost dead, no pulse, Hank hauling him off of her when he tried to give her CPR, and everyone was acting as if she had eaten too much pie or something ridiculous like that. Until he looked at Logan and saw a muscle twitch in the thick neck. He leaned close to the shorter man.

"You're worried, aren't you?"

Logan turned to him, and exploded. "Course I'm worried, ya bugger!"

His fist slammed down on the surgical tray, scattering instruments everywhere and leaving a sizable dent in the metal. Tris turned away from Beast and Jean with the suddenness of a striking snake, but said nothing, instead only watching. Wolverine's expression was murderous, both hands tightly balled. Relaxing only slightly, one hand absently scratched at the junctures of his knuckles. The still tableau at Tris' bed broke as Jean gasped.

"Logan!!" The red-haired telepath's tone was sharp, disappointed, and carried a hint of ice to it Warren had never heard before. Her green eyes flashed angrily as they caught on Logan's hands, one still frozen in the shape of a fist, the other massaging the delicate skin where blades lurked hidden.

Wolverine actually blushed. "S'rry darlin'."

The entire room was quiet another moment. Beast was avoiding all eye contact, seeming, like Warren, to think that the issues between Logan and Jean should be resolved in silence. Warren wondered if either of the two women was mentally yelling at the now surly Wolverine. Silence stretched on as the clock ticked loudly, its hand jumping erratically against a white surface. Angel, unable to help himself, yawned loudly. His action drew Tris' attention, and she seized on the chance to distract the battling gazes of Jean and Logan.

"Warren, if you could help me..."

Logan snapped his head towards the small body in the surgically clean hospital bed and blinked. Henry held out his hand, the palm as large and blue as the rest of his body. "Moving at this time in recuperation would be highly inadvisable Tristen." Rebellion flared up in her eyes, but was instantly vanquished as a coughing spasm hit her. She shivered convusively, her hand hovering over the broken rib and it's bandaging.

"I am not spending the night down here."

Tris' head came back up, stubborn lines hardening the shape of her face. Hank took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes wearily. Jean however smiled and turned away from the bedside, her hand protectively placed on a still flat abdomen.

"Henry, you heard me - I am not staying down here. Not overnight for certain." She sighed loudly, and the jug of water next to the bed rattled slightly. She sent the white ceramic a glare before Jean touched it, the jiggling slowly becoming less and less audible until it finally stopped.

"Sorry Jean. Look, Henry, you can make my room look like you're storing excess medical machinery in there, and I won't care. But," and her jaw tightened, jutting aggressively, "I am not staying down here. I'm awake, I'm medicated, and as far as I can tell, healing well if," she twitched, "this horrible itching in my arm and side mean anything." Warren choked slightly, so far beyond the point of humor that the situation had become almost unbearably hysterical. Would he ever get a chance to simply settle down, finish unpacking, and the like?

Not bloody well likely if the last few days were any sort of indication. Perhaps those last few boxes under his bed were better where they were anyway.

Angel vaguely heard arguing as he fumbled around in his hindbrain, trying desperately to make sense of nearly anything that had happened. At the moment, he couldn't seem to remember why the walls in the med bay were white, much less try to figure out why Tris had fallen down a flight of stairs without any apparent reason.

"Flyboy, y'help Tris upstairs while Hank an' I take th' tree3."

Warren remained silent, the comment barely registering.

"Warren!"

Starting, Warren looked over at Logan and the reclining Tris, his wings fluffing slightly in shock. He absently spread them partially out, tensing the muscles in a stretch. "What? Oh! Right." Three words and an IV detachment later, and he was once again carting his teammate upstairs to her bed. An exhausted brain informed him that his arms were, by the way, across her bare back, which meant that the cloth cutting into his bicep was likely her bra. He shifted his grip.

"Thanks Warren. I really appreciate this, y'know," Tris whispered unexpectedly. Her hand touched his eyebrow just below the cut uncertainly, before she said, "I'm sorry," in an even quieter tone, resting her head against his shoulder.

Warren grunted, angling her legs to fit through the narrow doorway. She stiffened as his fingers brushed the bandaging around her ribs. "Not a big deal. You just get better." Setting her down, the winged mutant tried not to show the strain on his exhausted muscles as he lifted the comforter and quilts, tucking them securely around her as she fluffed a pillow and stuffed it under her head. The sound of teeth grinding together drew his startled gaze to her face, where Tris evinced something he imagined was close to sheer agony. The hospital gown slipped sideways before Tris could secure it, and feeling uneasy, Warren slid it back around her thin shoulder. He wondered how much of her current mood was a combination of pain and pain medication, but having never been injured badly enough for such severe treatment, Angel had little idea what to do.

"It is to me." Tris eyes were warmly green, as she settled down into the large bed, the pupils large and nearly circular. Her canopy was surprisingly sheer, light from outside shining through. Warren squinted at the bright sunlight, lowering a protective hand as the shades lowered under Logan's inexpert hands. The Canadian swore under his breath as he manipulated cords and rods, until finally the bedroom was bathed in only a trickle of yellow light. The air conditioning hummed, and then shut abruptly off, leaving the room silent except for the shuffling of Beast reconnecting an IV. Warren's eyes jumped from location to location as a crystal behind the shades turned, shooting out random rays of refracted light. A blue and red streak finally settled on a photograph hanging above Tris' basket chair, claimed from his room. Angel watched it shimmer across the green paint for a moment, entranced, before shaking his head and returning to the matter at hand. He was suddenly just too tired and shocked to hardly think. Something about the aftermath of a concussion flitted through his mind, some fact he had to remember...

"Ow! Hank, you going to get that thing in my vein or what?"

Warren jumped at the exclamation of pain, his attention drawn back to the bed. Beast smiled apologetically, before gently sliding the thin needle into the back of his patient's hand. A small screen clipped onto the christmas tree flickered, then started to undulate, the thin green line jumping haphazardly before settling into a pattern. Watching the measured peaks and dips, Warren mentally bet himself it was heart monitor of some kind - he had certainly seen enough of them during his 'check-ups' when his mutation first manifested. His bare feet scrubbed roughly against the carpet as he moved closer to the bed.

Good God, how could he find her attractive when she had nearly died mere hours before?

Yet somehow his mind managed to see past the tubes and wires, or perhaps merely included them as part of her. It didn't matter; all that mattered was that her eyes were bright, the pink lips pouting slightly at Logan as he moved something on her bedside table, the pale skin glowing in the dim lighting. Her form was lost under the bright quilts, yet he could recreate it in his mind with ease... dust motes floated in the air between them as she turned to look at him, and Warren felt something stir within himself... he never wanted to see her like that again, lax on the floor, eyes open in that half-stare of death.

He wanted to protect her, from everything.

Starting with whatever Hank was trying to force on her finger.

Stepping forward, wings tucking firmly against his back to avoid hitting anything, Warren listened in on the conversation with renewed interest.

"Hank, this isn't going to do you any good. These machines aren't set for me, so all it'll do is turn on a million alarms."

Hank's expression was unusually mulish. "Tristen, the local alarms have been temporarily disconnected. These screens," he indicated the three small boxes perched on the tree, bedside table, and bedpost, "are directly connected to my laboratory computer. That computer has been properly calibrated for all the mansion's residents, as you know," and here the blue eyes sparkled with amusement behind his glasses, "so everything ought to be perfectly satisfactory for your current, and might I add, self-inflicted position."

Tris groaned, then presented her hand as though waiting for the blue doctor to kiss it. "Do what you will." Her tone despondent, the eyes meeting Warren's were nevertheless bright with mirth. Yet as their eyes locked, the mirth melted to puzzlement, puzzlement melted to sympathy, and sympathy refused to melt. Hank clipped a white clamp onto her thumb while Logan fiddled with a screen, neither of them noticing the locked eyes of Warren and his teammate.

"Warren, you should get some sleep. I'm fine."

She tilted her head, ignoring the other two men in the room. Warren nodded stiffly, never breaking eye contact, then somehow moved his feet out the door, turning to glance back. Tris was still watching him as he nodded again, her expression unfathomable but somehow comforting. Jean smiled at him as she ducked through the doorway with another armload of equipment, and forced from his reverie, Warren abruptly turned and made his way to his room.

xXx

I can't sleep. Hell, I can't even close my eyes without the irritating hum and whine of those dratted machines making my hair stand on end. Not to mention the dim lighting makes me feel like I'm in a funeral home. A very warm, stuffy funeral home. Hypotheses and questions whirl in dark corners, scrabbling about in my mind like rats. Annoying little rats I would like to squash.

Why did I fall? What happened to my arm? Did it have something to do with the mission? Is there something wrong that Dr. McCoy isn't telling me, or was it just my imagination that he seemed unusually tense and disturbed? Is Warren alright, did I hurt him beyond those cuts? He was trembling as he set me down.

I need to talk with someone before I go completely insane.

The smell of bubble gum fulfills my hopes several minutes later as the well-oiled green door opens. I wait for the mansion outside to blare its usual noises in through the opening - people shouting, stereos pounding their bass through walls and floors, and generally some disaster happening with a crash and the squeals of students. Oddly enough, the hallway is as still as my apartments.

"Tris, you 'wake?"

Her yellow jacket is obscenely bright, as usual. Rahne and Kitty follow soon after in a line. I glance automatically around for Diane.

"She's on dish duty." Kitty's eyes, so misleading in their soft blue and violet, are sharp enough to notice my swift check. Ah, Kitty. The girl is a paradox of looks, accent, and attitude. I clear my throat raspily, and Jubes is instantly at my side on the bed. The mattress presses down under her small yet solidly muscled form.

"What happened! You scared us all out of three years growth, which is not something I can afford by the way," Jubilee says quietly, trying to bring humor into the sentence even as her terrified eyes bore into mine. Avoiding the disconcertingly un-Jubes like gaze, piercing and worried, I chance a glimpse of each of my other visitors. Kitty has nearly imperceptible streaks down her cheek from mascara running and then being washed off, and her eyes are red. Rahne looks like a dog ready for someone to beat her, practically cowering against my dresser. Her normally impeccable curls are rumpled and fuzzy.

"Sorry girleens4. I don't know what happened, to be honest." I shrug, and then gasp as the movement brings a sharp pain to my side. Gritting my teeth, I wait for the morphine to kick in a little more. My friends and the room spins slightly as I gasp from another ripping shaft of agony, this time caused by Jubilee as she shifts on the bed, pulling the covers against my side. I thought being moved was ridiculously painful, but this... this feels like someone is plunging a knife into my side, and then twisting the blade slowly.

"Jubes... off...!" I grate the words between my teeth, determined to neither throw up nor pass out. She jumps up, hitting my fluid dispensary rack. Kitty lunges forward to help her steady the ungainly object, and I inhale sharply as the pressure is released. Once the direct push is gone, the pain killer dulls my side into a throbbing, itching, irritation rather than a direct threat to my sanity. I gasp in air, hoping to increase the spread of morphine through my body5. The hope is realized as with another deep breath my world fuzzes slightly before returning to normal clarity, with that microsecond of medication siphoning my pain effectively away. I shiver in reaction to the abrupt dismissal.

"Tris, you alright? Do you want me to get Dr. McCoy?"

"Actually, I'd appreciate it if you just smothered me with a pillow. The fuzzy one is my favorite."

The room stands in stasis for a shocked period before Rahne lets out something that sounds like a combination between a giggle, a bark, and a sob. Kitty turns to look at the newest member of their circle with unconcealed confusion.

"Look, I might be, like, the ditz of this whole tragedy visit, but I totally fail to see how that was funny!" We all watch Rahne collapse against the wall, holding her stomach as she laughs soundlessly. Before long, the sight of Wolfsbane laughing is too much for Jubes, and Kitty soon follows her in reluctant chuckles soon after. I smile, resisting the laughter bubbling up my throat for the sake of my rib, or ribs. Never did ask Hank how many were broken.

"Oh god... Tris..." Rahne gasps out a sentence, standing again and looking more like her usual exuberant self. "Are you alright?" Kitty nudges her sharply, and I am reminded painfully of the way Michael used to stomp on my feet when I said something I shouldn't have. I suddenly want Warren. I need to prove to myself that he's alright, that I didn't hurt him beyond the physical. That and I need to thank him, for whatever he did during those few seconds of slippery memory.

"Tris!"

Kitty snaps her fingers under my nose, and I start. "Oh. Sorry, I'm a little hopped up on pain meds right now." Jubes nods at the half-truth and smoothes the bedspread where she had been sitting. Rahne comes around to the other side of my bed. An uncomfortable silence stretches out before Jubilee, with her usual tactful tactlessness, speaks.

"So, what happened?"

Rahne quirks a lip, and Jubilee squeaks as Kitty sinks an elbow into her side. "Geez, Kit-kat, cut me a break." Jube's indignant remark is startlingly loud. I wonder if Warren can hear it... not likely, and since Kitty and Jubes are my other nearest hall mates, it's unlikely to draw any attention. I bring myself back to the present with a thud as Rahne says something.

"What?"

The Scottish shape-shifter rolls her eyes. "Seriously, we want to know what happened. One minute, you're... talking with me," her voice hurries past the embarrassing truth, that I was yelling at her, "and then you just collapse down the stairs."

I look up at my friends, and struggle to stay awake. Healing myself takes up energy and resources, meaning sleep and IV fluids are generally the best bet to keep me in top condition. I try to stifle the yawn that threatens with an insistent tickle in the back of my throat. "Honestly, I haven't got a clue. I just felt weak, and then fell and passed out."

Alright, so that might not be the complete version, but hey, it does cover the necessary facts. I fall, go boom, get hurt. As another twinge indicates, very hurt. Judging by the three-way exchange of looks over my prostrate body, I think I can make the guess that they don't believe me. A crash from down the hallway makes all of us jump again, feeling like we're breaking curfew or something equally frowned upon.

"Kay, well, we just, like, wanted to check on you. We better go before Dr. McCoy shows up and has, like, a total meltdown."

My drugged mind conjures up something like the Witched Witch of the West melting, except with a large amount of blue fur spread everywhere.

Jubilee touches the back of my hand gently. Jubes hardly ever touches anyone in friendship - a hug without romantic inclination is practically unheard of. I have always assumed that she simply enjoyed her space, but the thought suddenly brushes across my mind that somehow, somewhere in her life she learned to equate touch with sex, and nothing else, and then never discovered any different. A simple brush from her shows more platonic love than the most flowery of speeches from any of the others in the room. Realizing this, I smile up at her, the boyish haircut and turquoise eyes in their background of golden skin. Rubbing her nose self-consciously, the firecracker smiles back and leave the room. Kitty and Rahne, mumbling their excuses and good-byes, follow. The door shuts softly behind them, Kitty putting her head through the wood for one last wink.

Listening to their feet thunder down the stairs I wonder if they realize how close I came to death. Rahne seemed to have an inkling, but considering I haven't quite wrapped my mind around the idea, I'm not surprise they hardly considered it as an option. Relaxing into my pillows, I start yet again when the air conditioning thumps on, creating a breeze that rustles my finished homework. Hard to believe it was only this morning that I was moaning about Calculus.

Another yawn overcomes me, and this time I allow it to unfold. My eardrums pop painfully as I suck the air around me greedily. A beep from the monitor above me brings a slight jump of interest quickly overcome by a contemplation of how soft my pillows truly were.

Especially the fuzzy one.

wWw

Warren wandered down the hall, wondering what time it was. In a typical bout of post-sleep and pre-coffee, he hadn't bothered to check the clock hanging on his wall before leaving the room, and couldn't be bothered to go back now. Stopping at Tris' door, he pressed an ear to the green hinge, only to hear a soft rustle of coverlets. Somehow, and how he didn't really want to examine, he knew she was still asleep. Pulling his shirt on fully, slits carefully cut over the shoulders to allow the delicate wings to emerge, he turned the stairwell and walked gingerly down the stairs. The splash of blood from earlier, Tris' and his mingled on the tiles below, had mercifully been cleaned. Remy wandered by below him, and he followed the Cajun to the kitchen with a single-mindedness born of one idea.

Oh, coffee, I praise thee.

He fished out a mug from the communal cupboard, accepting the pot from a silent Gambit. The Cajun watched him thoughtfully as he gulped down the plain black brew noisily.

"You an' Tris in'volved?"

Warren looked at Remy, their eyes level if polar opposites, the red on black fixed into palest blue. Warren swigged another mouthful of scalding coffee before answering. "We're teammates." He nodded, somehow thinking that that one word had explained everything he felt when the name 'Tris' was mentioned. He had thought he was interested in her for mundane and predictable reasons. Male/female attraction, an already close relationship on the team, similar interests, not to mention her numerous assets. She was funny, she was intelligent, and to his mind, undeniably pretty, in a cute if not drop-dead gorgeous way.

But now...

Now he was stopping himself from going upstairs and sleeping on the foot of her bed like a lost puppy. Or pigeon, perhaps, in his case he thought wryly. What was it about this morning's events that made him so certain that he had to watch her? No one else seemed to understand that she had almost died, for Christ's sake... but why was he so certain of it? Remy's continued gaze made Warren uncomfortable, and he averted his eyes, taking another sip of coffee. This time he felt the burn on his tongue and throat as he swallowed.

"F'someone who ne'va leaves her side, y'seem calm homme."

Calm could not begin to describe the state of shock he felt himself in. Barely over the whole battle-thing, and then...

"B'mebbe y'don' wan' t'be upset when it's time f'her t'leave, hein?"

Warren snapped his head back towards the lounging x-man. "Leave?" Remy nodded absently, raising his own mug to his lips. "Didn' y'know?" Angel shook his head. Remy narrowed his eyes, apparently in thought. "Could'a sworn sh'meant t'go ahead wit' everyt'ing." Gambit yawned widely, not bothering to cover his gaping mouth, and Warren noted a gold crown dully. Tris, leave? He was shaken back into reality when a heavy hand descended onto his shoulder, accompanied by a growl.

"You 'kay kid?"

Hot coffee went everywhere, including a liberal splash on Remy's sneakers. He stared mournfully at the wet material before handing Warren a towel from the granite countertop. Logan jumped backwards with a curse, then took the cup from Angel's lax hand.

"S'rry. Getcha some more."

Bending down, he methodically cleaned up the dark liquid as Wolverine clanked above him. The scent of fresh coffee brewing pervaded the kitchen as the Canadian set another pouch of grounds in the basket before finishing off the pot. When Warren stood, a sopping towel in hand, Logan was waiting for him with a re-filled cup. Unsure of how to react to this sudden turn-about in behavior, he tossed the towel in the general direction of the laundry basket, hearing it land with a wet plop as he accepted the proffered cup. He mumbled, "Thanks," before holding the cup in his hands, slowly rotating the handle from one palm to the other. Logan nodded and turned back to his mug, adding a generous dollop of cream.

"Kid?"

Warren looked up to see Logan watching him. The bulky man's face was unusually emotionless, his ever-present crease between his eyes gone. His mouth was curved in something approaching a smile.

"I may no' 'prove of you, bu' you were there fer 'er. An' tha's 'nough fer me."

He lightly punched the front of Warren's shoulder and left the kitchen, growling in a manner that sounded suspiciously like humming. Remy shrugged at his awe-struck gaze. "Look's like de Wolverine 'as decided t'keep y'." He smiled charismatically, rinsing his cup and turning it upside down to dry. Holding a hand against his bandaged side and rolling the injured shoulder, the Cajun disappeared out the door as easily and silently as he had entered. Warren turned and leaned over the counter, dipping down until his nose made contact with the cool surface. He was beginning to wish he had just stayed mildly confused upstairs, instead of seriously befuddled down here. Inhaling, he thumped his forehead against the granite.

"Tell me if that helps."

Spreading his wings in alarm, Warren turned to see Jubilee in the doorway. Was the whole mansion going to converge in the kitchen? A crash announced the demise of Remy's erstwhile coffee mug as it tumbled to the floor, abetted by Angel's wingtip. The pieces rolled in silence as his mind blindly wondered how much mess could he possibly make in ten minutes? which was quickly answered when his opposite wing knocked a spice jar off it's shelf as he retracted the feathery destroyers. The ceramic jar luckily landed in a basket of garlic, but the reverberations of what sounded like sand scattering all over the countertop cut his mental halleluiah short. Warren closed his eyes and wings tightly, and prayed for it to all go away, back to three days ago.

"Ah... not a good time?"

His brain finally unfogging between the rush of adrenaline and coffee, Warren shook his head.

"No... just busy making a mess." He turned to the counter, and sighed when the sand turned out to be mustard seeds6. Cupping a hand against the cool stone surface, he scooped the small black spheres back into the jar, ignoring the few that escaped him under baskets or bowls of produce. Behind him, he could hear Jubilee picking up the smashed mug and tossing it into the trash, the plastic liner whispering softly.

"Went up and saw Tris. She's really alright, isn't she?"

The voice was that of a little girl. Warren turned around, and saw in Jubilee the eighteen year old mall rat with hideous choice in favorite colors... a spark of fear. The bright eyes were fixed upwards on his, pleading for reassurance. Warren swallowed. How was he supposed to give reassurance when he didn't feel sure himself?

"I don't know. She's alive. And," he broke the uncomfortable eye contact, turning to pick at the last few mustard seeds, "I think she'll be alright."

The sigh of relief from Jubilee startled him into turning around, an eyebrow raised. She was looking at him like he had answered all of her problems in life, and then the bouncy, cocky, full-of-life Jubes was back with a vengeance.

"That's totally awesome. I mean, you of all people would know if she's cool or not, being her teammate. Well, I gotta raincheck to make up for with Bobby. See ya later." She jauntily walked from the room, unknowingly following the same path as Logan and Remy. Warren slumped back on the counter, a niggling feeling in the back of his mind overpowered with trying to process the last three conversations. What was it he had wanted to know? Oh, the time.

Looking up and over his shoulder, Warren stared at the clock without actually reading the black dial for a full minute, his mind blank. When the numbers finally fumbled their way through the mess that was his mind and body, they still seemed unreasonable. It couldn't be only 4:07, could it? The sun wouldn't be going down for hours yet...

Turning his head back, Warren relaxed slightly. The coffee maker gurgled as it emptied the last of the steaming black liquid into a pot, then stood quiescent and steaming behind him. Warren, reaching out absently, refilled his partially empty cup and another that sat next to the maker, slightly damp but clean. His mind clearing up more and more by the second, Angel decided there was only one thing to do. Gripping a mug in each hand, he headed for the exit; taking the turn he knew would lead him down to the laboratory.

It was time for a talk with Dr. McCoy.

* * *

1 All righty… yell at me if you already know this… nasal intubation attaches superficially into a patients nostrils, giving them an extra dose or 'hit' of oxygen. Useful for injuries or whatnot, as an increased oxygen flow can help you heal faster, or for the elderly whose lungs don't function at full capacity any more. Tracheal intubation, or 'traches' are much more invasive, actually going down your throat to the junction of the lungs and forcing air into you. They are generally used for a case where the patient's breathing isn't steady or has to be maintained at an even keel (think coma, operation, collapsed lung – heavy-duty stuff). Traches are nasty to remove and put in, as they irritate the throat lining. There, now you can go sound all knowledgeable, whether you want to or not! ;-)

2 X-rays are probably what most of you are familiar with when it comes to broken bones; however, because of this little fact that they are known to cause tumors (including cancer) ultrasounds are much safer. Check out those lead vests they wear at the hospital (or maybe your doc just leaves the room like mine) if ya don't believe me. Anywho, ultrasounds create an equally helpful image, just a trifle fuzzier, and are currently catching on more and more in the medical community. They are operated using a wand or pad and blue gunk, with the image being relayed to an attached screen. Yes, you have to know this //sigh// knowledge never hurts, right?

3 Those hat-stand things that docs hang IV fluids and medications on are commonly called 'christmas trees' (no caps) or 'trees' for short. Besides, can you really see Wolverine saying 'fluid dispensary rack'? "Flui' dispensar' rack." //giggles, then dodges a pillow-flinging Logan//

4 Yes, I'm a thief. I stole this line from a truly horrendous movie called _Sun Across the Plain_ which I watch when I wish to be reminded of the stupidity of Hollywood. Oh, er, hope nobody out there likes it :-)

5 Breathing and heart rate are directly related – breathe faster, your heart rate goes up to keep up with the oxygen flow. Therefore, a medication in the blood will spread faster if you breathe faster. This is why injured and panicky patients have a faster result from meds than those that are calm or already medicated

6 I'm not talking those huge black one they have in pepper, I mean the little tiny ones they use in Cajun cooking… like the ones they mention in the Good Book, the thing about the biggest plant growing from the smallest seed?... just smile and nod people, smile and nod :D

* * *

So, I _was _listening to Nickelback when I wrote this, but then one of those oddball freak accidents happened (aided and abetted by my roommate no doubt) and instead of _All the Right Reasons _I got _Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme _from Simon and that Garfunky guy... however you spell his name... Which worked for me, 'cause I like them and all, but it also means this chapter took a swift nosedive into something I wasn't expecting, since I was too lazy to get up and change the CD. And I know, it's long, but what can I say? I start writing, and then I keep writing, and then I get thrown off the computer because I was late for work... //clears throat// anyway, I hope you lot like the direction the story is turning. Always know I appreciate and adore reviews - your opinions on what you like and dislike help me to write better for you! Although this whole Warren being spacey is troubling to me... what the hell am I saying, I'm writing the damn thing. //sigh// I swear, I get crazier with each passing day. Actually, I'll explain Warren's confusion in the next chapter... just hold on, there is a reason, I promise. And if you caught what it is from this chapter (Arden!) extra brownie points... or maybe apple pie points, since I just made one of those... lol

**LadyOfThePlains: **Oh my goodness gracious, I can't believe it's not butter//fans self// A reviewer after my own heart has made a LIST!! Lady, you are just wonderful. So I'm going to take the time to give you all the attention you deserve, and manymanymany thanks for the review. Those words just help to keep me going - honestly, my motivator would be shot without you and Arden... so on to your fabulous review! Thanks on the death scene, yes! on another calc-hater (both semesters I sat in the back of the classroom with those odd people who love the subject... scariest hours of my day, all those students actually paying attention to the professor with this rapt expression...) and ADD? Totally! Where would we be without ADD... where was I again? Ha, I can make fun 'cause I'm kinda ADD... mwehehehe. As for the not making sense one, yeah, reading that again it didn't quite make sense to me either. BUT what I meant to say was Amara was away for the summer, back in Nova Roma I guess, and so Jubes, Diane, and Kitty had included Rahne as part of their circle. Hope to hear more from you, love the input and feedback.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own anything... Anyone else have a vote that the world just isn't fair?

My devout worship to Arden for existing and making my life a shinier, chocolate-filled, and considerably more typo free world! Luv you babe, and Logan sends even more hugs.

Ohmygoodnessgracious chocolate covered deity! I have just received conformation of 4000 readers, which makes me so happy I want to explode. Don't worry, I won't, but the feeling is definitely there...

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

The laboratory was still, white, and spotless. Gleaming metal and bleached plastic made the enormous blue doctor seem out of place as he turned from one microscope to another, grumbling gently to himself. A pen sped across page after page as his surprisingly nimble hand took notes. Warren stopped in the doorway and knocked softly, trying not to startle the resident doctor. After a moment, during which the grumbling stopped as the hand kept going, Henry turned. His swivel chair squeaked first in protest, then relief as he stood.

"Why, hello Warren. To what do I owe your company?" Dr. McCoy graciously indicated for Warren to take the only stool in the lab and moved to his desk chair, a behemoth affair with deep cushions and large armrests. Smiling, Angel took the offer and straddled the stool, leaning his forearms across the back as he faced Beast. The blue doctor, settling sedately into his own seat, smiled as he accepted the mug of coffee.

"I wanted to know if Tris'll be alright."

Henry stretched his arms out on the armrests, thoughtfully stroking the material. "All my testing indicates that she will fully recover, given some time. However, the reason for her sudden collapse still eludes me. I have been attempting to discover some possible explanation for the accident," the blue arm swept outward to encompass his cluttered workbench, "but cannot find a common denominator." The blue eyes observed Warren carefully behind glasses. "Are you quite certain you feel normal, Mr. Worthington?"

Warren had just lightly touched his eyebrow, beginning to throb now that the local anesthetic1 was wearing off. He smiled, answering, "No, I'm fine. Felt a little tired earlier, but I'm good now."

Henry nodded, steepling his fingers together in a motion reminiscent of the professor. "I was referring to my concern that the concussion you sustained may be affecting your mental faculties." Tilting the large head, silky blue hair slid across his brow as he observed Warren closely. "Are you experiencing memory loss or a feeling of being somewhat disjointed?"

"We-eell..." Warren felt the stirrings of pride collapse under the doctor's gaze. "I was a bit muddled," he admitted, remembering the feeling of peering in on the situation without all the facts on hand.

Henry nodded, sitting back against the black leather until the seams strained. "Confusion and lethargy are common side effects of blows to the head. Such violence causes the brain to swell, you see. If you like, I can give you a more in-depth examination to verify you are recuperating satisfactorily." His hand moved from the armrest to the ever-present stethoscope slung around his neck.

Warren shrugged, taking another sip of coffee before setting the cup carefully down next to a stack of papers. He watched the brown liquid, collected on the mug's rim from his lips, slide back into the depths. "Can't hurt." His legs straddled across the chair's narrow seat, he rolled himself over to Beast.

Sitting below the blue doctor, still arrayed in his incongruous white lab coat over a t-shirt and Hawaiian print shorts, he felt oddly like an acolyte before the alter of some serenely serious ancient blue god. The doctor shattered this view as he leaned forward with a small flashlight.

"Open your eyes as wide as possible... thank you... now, please follow the light."

Unable to see anything except the blindingly powerful beam, Warren obligingly moved his pupils back and forth, up and down, then in a complicated squiggling pattern than would have made a snake dizzy. Small 'hmm's and 'hum's broke the silence as the velvet-soft pads of Henry's fingers found Warren's wrist, clamping down at the pulse point. The light abruptly shut off, leaving Angel blinking as he tried to clear the spots from his vision.

"Well, there is a slight difference in dilation diameter2, as well as in your tracking time, but I think that other than that you are healing well. Open your mouth please."

Warren did as asked, closing it moment later after the doctor shone his light inside.

"Good, your gums are red, so I think we can rule out any internal bleeding." A roguish wink surprised Angel nearly as much as the next request. "Now, just one more thing. If you could unbutton your shirt...?" Beast blew softly on the stethoscope, holding it out at the ready.

Hesitating slightly, Warren slowly unbuttoned the first button, then the second, gradually speeding up until his shirt hung open. He shrugged out the garment carefully, sliding the slits over his wings. Hank waited patiently, frowning when his eyes slid to Warren's ribs. "You may need to increase your intake of food... hmmm..."

Despite the doctor's attempts to warm it, the stethoscope chilled Warren's chest as it slid gracefully over the white skin, resting above his heart. Looking down, and seeing the large blue fingers manipulate the tiny piece of steel delicately into just the right spot, Warren wondered whether the grace of Dr. McCoy was learned or part and parcel of his mutation. Or perhaps he had always been this way, so sure of what he was doing. Following the arm connected to the fingers with his eyes, Warren ended his gaze on the closed eyes of his physician. Henry's expression of concentration slipped away as he opened his eyes, seeming to sense Warren's frank stare.

"Good heartbeat, no murmur that I can detect. Your pulse is somewhat rapid, but that seems to be inherent in your mutation." Henry smiled, his sharp incisors seeming oddly normal. Warren could hardly imagine him without the ferocious eyeteeth anymore.

"Considering your circumstances I would say that you are in reasnably decent health. I would suggest retiring early this evening, but otherwise you are well on the road to recovering fully. The stitches may be removed in a week, depending upon your own recuperative abilities - merely ask Jean or myself, it is the work of a moment to remove so few sutures." He beamed gently, handing Warren his shirt from its perch on the chair back. His eyebrow, as blue as the rest of him, rose slightly.

"This is an interesting method of manufacture. May I ask where it was done? I am always," Henry leaned forward conspiritally, "looking for better prices on my own unusual wardrobe."

Warren, pulling his shirt back on, plucked at the slits before finishing the buttons. "These? I had them made by a tailor, before I came here." He smiled back at the blue doctor, feeling at ease. He could certainly relate to 'unusual wardrobes'.

"Ah. I am afraid that those of us with physically manifested mutations must band together in the matter of clothing."

Warren nodded. "I have a number somewhere, if you're interested. She works mainly for mutants I think." Henry inclined his head, accepting the offer as he drank some more coffee. They sat together in companionable silence, Warren having reclaimed his own cup. He was just examining the dregs at the bottom critically when a thought occured to him.

"I really don't know anything about... well, any of this." Warren shrugged one shoulder towards the tables behind him, rotating the chair back and forth absently. "But, I was thinking. You were talking about finding a common denominator in Tris' injuries." Henry nodded, polishing off the last of his drink and opening a drawer in the desk. Warren shook his head to the proffered Twinkie, rubbing his nose thoughtfully instead.

"I was just wondering, if Tris might have been attacked telepathically?" He swirled the last of his now cold coffee, unsure of how Dr. McCoy would react to his butting in on the research.

"I had that thought myself, actually." The deep voice reassured Warren as he raised his head to meet the doctors blue eyes. "But my impression from Charles's files on Tris is that she has created strong shielding for herself over the course of her life. I believe it would take a very powerful and geographically close mutant to attack her so - that and she made no mention of it when she awoke. And," he took a large mouthful of cream and soft pastry, "I find it hard to believe she would not instantly warn us of such a threat. After all, she is the second strongest telepath at the school. An attack that incapacitated her would be catastrophic if applied to the rest of us." Another bite and the Twinkie was junk food history. Beast discretely licked his fingers with a surprisingly pink tongue.

Warren, his mind clearing as the conversation progressed, snuggled his chin deeper into his arms. "But... couldn't the telepath just make her forget he attacked her?"

Beast chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that reminded Warren of an earthquake far off. "Indeed. But to our knowledge, Charles is the only mutant with the power of telepathic control. It is certain that someone inclined towards evil with such a gift would be recognized early on by the x-men. The erasure of memories can never be fully complete. Vestiges will remain, as Logan often reminds us." He stood, looming over Warren. "I am sorry to so rudely discourage your thoughts, but it would be a nearly impossible task."

Warren stood as well, recognizing the plea for solitude. "Right." Snagging his now empty cup, he snuck another glance at Beast. "Thanks for the check-up, and the talk. I'm going to head back upstairs." He had begun to turn towards the door when Henry stopped him.

"Check on Tristen for me, will you? I'd like a verification of her status with human eyes. After all," a blue hand rested on the computer monitor that displayed a series of moving peaks and valleys that Warren suddenly realized must be Tris' vitals, "machines can only do so much."

Angel nodded, watching as Beast turned from live, breathing company to engross himself in his work. And yet... he looked happier pulled up before the microscope, his glasses perched precariously on top his head, the chair groaning under his weight, than at any other time. Letting out a little exhalation to himself on the vagarities of mutantdom, Warren started out on the trek back upstairs.

He made it through the surprisingly quiet mansion without conversing with another resident. True, Kitty had phased through the wall in front of him, tray in hand, en route to the rec room, and yes, Scott was sandwiched between a newspaper and his predictably red Lazy-boy just outside the sitting room, but other than that he had found the mansion unusually empty. The stairs creaked as he mounted them, the railing wood silky smooth under his fingers. Turning the stairwell corner, he slowed and stopped before the green door that marked Tris' room. Taking a deep and unnecessary breath, he gently eased the panel open.

It moved obediently under his hand, slow but sure, and more quietly than he had expected. Once the opening was large enough, he slid his head through, peering into the murky darkness. Soft breathing from the bed reassured him. He was just carefully withdrawing his head when a voice spoke from the gloom.

"Warren?"

She sounded fretful, almost anxious. Sliding the door open further as it caught on the thick rug, Warren felt the need to whisper back. "You okay Tris?"

A gentle laugh answered him, along with some rustling. A sharp exclamation of pain mid-chuckle made him lurch forwards slightly. "Ach!" A single harsh breath, then silence as her breathing stopped. Warren could just make out her outline in the bed as his eyes adjusted. He was just about to ask another query when she inhaled, shakily. "Just brilliant... you on free time?"

Was he on free time. What a silly question. "Yeah. You need something?"

The next sentence was filled with the sound of muffled mirth. "Besides a new rib? I'd like a brain actually. With a side of painkillers." Warren smiled. Only Tris would sit there and make jokes. He would probably be simply existing with the pain, not making small-talk; if he was fully honest with himself, he was more the type to suffer in sulky silence or pretended sleep. Another soft rustle drew his attention back to his silhouetted teammate.

"Thanks for asking, though."

"Sure."

Warren remained partially in the room, listening to the sounds of Tris rearranging the bedding to her satisfaction. "Do you need something?" Her soft voice, huskily deep and sleepy, emphasized the pronoun ever so slightly. The question shook him back to reality.

"Yes. I mean, no. No."

The air conditioning clunked on, and Tris groaned. "The moment winter comes around I'm going to chuck that thing out the window." Warren 'ha'ed softly. "You could come in, if you like. Instead of standing in the doorway." A stool made it's way slowly across the carpet, coming to rest at the side of the bed opposite the door.

Angel hesitated minutely before walking forward into the gloomy room. In only those few feet of carpet and silent dusk, his senses became attuned to Tris. How often and deep she took a breath; the way her hair was obviously tousled, as if she had been running her fingers through it over and over; the delicate hand hovering over her side like a watchful guardian.

"How do you feel?" The cushion of the stool was oddly soft, more so than he remembered. He had placed a hand on the bed to ease himself down, expecting a harder surface. The bed's occupant glanced at the hand, making him consciously

spread his fingers over the worn bedspread as he sat next down next to her. Tris smiled, her mouth quirked to one side in the mischievous yet hooded grin he adored so much. That smile seemed to explain some facet of his teammate's character he rarely saw, yet treasured.

"If I had a tail, I'd be lashing it with sheer frustration." Her reply was flippant, light, and somehow unlike Tris. Oh, the words were hers - a mixture of sarcasm and metaphor that only she would use, with that hint of a western accent. But the tone, so light, made the query meaningless. She was avoiding a direct answer. And that was not like her at all.

Warren exhaled as deeply and quietly as he could. He felt the same way. What a tool for relieving frustration Kurt possessed. The man probably didn't even know what a boon his mutation was, likely, and here Angel was envying him his spaded tail.

"I wanted to thank you, though. Very much."

Warren remained silent, widening his eyes in an unconscious reflection of his emotions. Thank him? For what? So far as he could tell, he'd only been in the way. His mind, at her words, began to rustily put things together he had noticed earlier, reviewing remarks that seemed unintelligible under the concussion's influence. Tris smiled at his confusion, her eyes blurred from drugs. Warren, his own eyes now fully adjusted to the room's light, or lack thereof, could see her hand slipping unobtrusively under the coverlet.

"Why are you thanking me?"

Tris widened her eyes, the pupils narrowing as she focused more closely. The sun's angle changed just enough to send a shaft of light into the room, leaving a quavering square on the opposite wall. Both their eyes watched the shivering beam before returning to each other. Tris opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again for a deep breath.

"You don't know?"

Warren blinked slowly, deliberating on his reply. Tris seemed to take that as answer enough, and this time her mouth opened to an explanation. She nervously licked her lips swiftly before starting.

"When someone... dies... their psych leaves first, and then the body follows. You... it's so hard to explain in words..." Her voice drifted off, her eyes now as fully unfocused as they had been focused moments before. She watched the square of light as though it contained every answer she had ever wanted.

"I what?"

Angel, unaware of his actions, poised himself on the edge of his seat. His hand, still flat on the bed, curled around a fistful of quilt, bunching the fabric together. Looking down, Warren made himself relax his grip, slowly, patiently. The fabric remained crumpled together, the geometric pattern distorted.

"You held my mind, wouldn't let it go. So I stayed." Tris was avoiding eye contact, her sarcastic bravado of minutes before gone. Without her normally exuberant personality to fill the corners, she looked small, and fragile. Warren blinked again, even slower than before, trying to find some way to phrase his next question that wouldn't make him sound doubtful.

"I... I held your mind?" Perhaps an open-ended repetition of her own words would draw forth more information.

Tris looked up, meeting his eyes with her own. "It's a telepath thing... people's minds can be held, and comforted, and cuddled, just like a body can. But it takes another telepath to do it."

"But I'm not a telepath."

Tris smiled again, the crooked grin. "You're an empath; close enough, apparently. 'Specially since I'm one." She blanched suddenly, her jaw muscles tightening. "Forgot to hold my breath," she grated out through clenched teeth. Warren watched helplessly as she slowly regained control over her face. When she finally looked back at him, her face was still tight with pain, but something else lingered in the taught muscles, something... Warren couldn't help but think, something more painful than the pain. Pah, who was he kidding, trying to interpret a look like that?

Her hand slid out from under the covers and reached towards his face. He froze, waiting as she extended her arm to its fullest, still inches away. Her finger stretched towards his eye, and he felt a brush along the injury that seemed to follow the motion of her hand. The touch moved down his cheek, light pressure yet lacking the warmth of a human touch. Tris frowned in concentration, dropping her hand as she reached his mouth. A final press against his lips was followed by her soft voice.

"Sorry about throwing you."

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Or maybe it was just the last of the caffeine was making it's presence known in Angel's system. Whatever the reason, he suddenly understood.

"When I held you back," he couldn't say the word die, not now and not ever, "you threw me?"

Tris nodded, looking embarrassed. Her eyes slipped away from him, avoiding direct contact. Wolverine could have battered the door down, and Warren wouldn't have noticed. Things were beginning to fit together. "And now you're apologizing to me?"

Another look, this one more like a typically Tris expression. A smile that was somehow both a smile and a grimace curved beneath the slightly crooked nose and slitted eyes.

"You need help."

Tris gaped. "Excuse me?"

"I supposedly forcibly prevent your mind from... leaving; you throw me into a wall in instinctive retaliation, right?" At her nod, he bulldozed onwards. "I am unharmed," Tris snorted, then winced spectacularly, "you sit in the bed with a broken rib, and then you apologize to me." A smile, a real Tris grin of mischief and white teeth, was a better finale to his summary than anything he could think of.

"Wonder how much the Professor charges per hour?" The question was asked in a demurely sweet tone that threw Warren off-balance for the moment it took to process the sentence. He smiled back at Tris, feeling the tension break. Suddenly the silence was warm and welcoming rather than strained. Angel continued to smile, feeling as if he would like to bottle up this moment, to keep on a shelf and glance at once in a while. Not too often, for that would hardly keep it sweet and untainted, but just every now and then when he needed to remember something quiet and worthwhile.

"Tris, are you decent?"

Bobby's voice through the door broke their silent reverie in each other. Warren quirked his mouth, standing. "You want me to let him in?" Tristen nodded, her eyes still murky and unfocused. He was just turning away when she whispered hoarsely back, "Please stay... something's wrong with him." Warren stopped, his meandering feet stilled by the urgency in her voice. The normally deep and oftimes soft voice was now higher, upset. He turned back to see her shiver, and pull the top quilt kinetically higher, almost reaching her chin.

"You sure you want me to let him in?" His own voice was soft. Warren felt that it was less for the sake of Bobby overhearing than the factor of not startling Tris.

xXx

I nodded. Drugs, especially those drugs intended to pain relief, which is essentially the dulling of the senses, tend to cloud telepathy. Hank explained it to me once, long ago when I had my first dose of Valium for wisdom teeth removal. Something about the receptors that 'catch' and hold a drug being the same as those that are in charge of telepathy3; I can't quite remember the conversation in it's entirety, all I know is that while I can't pick up exactly what Bobby is thinking outside my door, I know he's anxious and more than a little angry.

My rib, already knitting, hurts sharply when I move, but without the excruciating pain of earlier. Excruciating, what a perfect word to describe it. The word itself sounds painful as it rolls off the tongue, all angles and sharp consonants. Excruciating.

I deliberately tense my stomach, gasping slightly at the pain, but grateful for the jolt of reality. I need to maintain myself, not let the drugs take over. Morphine has a tendency to make me unusually fickle, switching emotions every time my attention is distracted. And as another side effect of the drug is a very limited attention span, my moods flip-flop everywhere. Have to remind Henry to try something else on me next time. I think I'd rather take the short-term pain than the longer term fuzziness.

Warren cracks the door open, and Bobby stumbles forward. His feet, bare as Warren's, make little noise on my carpet. He glares at Warren, seeming to blame him for the clumsy moment, no doubt the result of leaning on the door while waiting for me to open it.

The two stand side by side, almost alike enough to be brothers; cousins, at least adds the most honest part of my mind. Blond hair, pale blue eyes, similar height. Yet where Warren is lithely slender, Bobby bulks with muscle. Where Warren dresses conservatively, button-up shirts and wife-beaters, Bobby has lately gone towards chains and a gangster appearance, complete with spiked hair. Even as Angel's eyes maintain their cool outlook, almost detached at most times, Bobby's flame with emotion in opposition to his mutation. Ever since his break-up with Kitty, something about Bobby bothers me - has bothered me. He is too aggressive, too angry. He acts as if Kitty broke up with him... where did that thought come from?

Yet, watching Iceman pick his way over to my bed, now ignoring Warren, I wonder whether my drugged brain has managed to put something together I ought to have noticed before. Bobby does act as though Kitty dumped him, rather than the other way around. But how can that be?

"Dr. McCoy wants to know if you feel well enough to come down for dinner, or if you'd like someone to bring something up. Since he can't make the intercom work."

He has stopped several feet away, avoiding my eyes, hands shoved into his pockets. His entire posture hints at suspicion and tension. A flicker of his eyes as they jump from the silent intercom box, due to a doubtlessly ungrateful kinetic move on my part, towards Warren explains the suspicion, but not the tension. I suddenly hear Warren speaking distinctly into my mind, a jostle of emotions belying his outwardly calm exterior. The meanderings of his mind are difficult to hear while looking at the physical specimen, arms crossed and wings slightly spread as he looks determinedly at the carpet.

_::Uncertainty/Fear Should I offer to get her dinner? No, she wants me here for Bobby... what's wrong with him? He feels so... sad. No, that's wrong, I'm just extrapolating again. He **looks **so sad::_

Warren is feeling Bobby's emotions? But... his shields... what did Bobby ask again? Oh, dinner. Iceman's eyes meet mine as I shift, testing my rib. It hurts, quite a bit. Just a little too much for dinner.

"Thanks Bobster," and the icy eyes meet mine with a flicker of something approaching despair; gad, I wish I could concentrate enough to scan him properly, "but I think I'm still a little too banged up to come down. If someone could bring something up, that would be great." He nods stiffly, and I unthinkingly try to reach out to him telepathically as I cannot physically. He turns abruptly and slams the door just this side of rude, not to mention damaging. Warren sighs, rubbing at his chin with one hand. I watch the absent and irritated movement single-mindedly.

"Do you shave?"

What the... where did that come from? Definitely need to tell Hank to lower the medication next injury. This could be embarrassing if I start blurting things out. I though I was rational enough, but this really takes the chocolate cake as far as mistakes in personal health levels.

Warren stops rubbing and looks up, directing his gaze at me. The hand, fine-boned and still soft despite months of training, reaches up and tugs at an earlobe instead. I notice his ear is pierced on one side. Why didn't I ever see that before?

"Yeah. Don't most guys?"

I close my eyes and shake my head slightly. Curls, waves, and frizz fall around my face. I irritably brush them out of the way and look upwards at my teammate again. "Yeah, guess they do. I'm not really thinking very well." Understatement of the year. I must not be thinking, period.

"I'll go down and get your dinner. Unless you want Bobby...?" I jump at the opportunity.

"No, you would be great. Thanks Warren. I might have to throw someone else around if you leave." Ah, that was reasonably sane and normal. At least, judging by his expression it was. He lightens, taking the extra step to my side. Smiling, he leans towards me, his hand outstretched. I feel my heart rate go up... calm down, it's Warren, your very sweet and doubtless well-meaning teammate. The index finger brushes my cheek bone.

"Be right back. Don't fall asleep, or I'll eat whatever I bring back up."

I kinetically chuck a pillow at the door as he slides out, closing the green panel behind him and leaving me to stare at a picture of Kitty's that she drew for me. The puck. He better bring me something good to eat after that last comment.

* * *

1 Yes... as if you didn't get enough medical lingo last time, for those who are lucky enough to have never needed so much as a stitch I shall explain. A general anesthetic is where they administer some sort of drug that renders you fully unconscious or incapacitated. A local anesthetic on the other hand just numbs some specific area of your body for a short period of time.

2 A concussion will often cause your pupils to dilate unevenly. I swear, it's true, if somebody has differently sized pupils it's a sign of head trauma.

3 Health class 101 - if you took it, don' have to read this; unless, perhaps, like me, you never paid attention. lol. Good thing I paid 'tention in Bio. Drugs actually block the receptors in your brain(generally pleasure receptors, or in the case of pain-killers, the pain/nerve receptors); dependant upon the drug, it may be short term, or it might actually permanently plug it up. What I'm saying here (and making it up off the top of my head by the way; don't check for this among Marvel stuff, although Henry assures me it's reasonable :D) it that these same receptors are the one's that are responsible for the 'receiving' of outside thoughts _besides_ being the receptors for our own body's pain. Sort of a double-dipping in the nerve world. And I need to stop writing down plot ideas while pretending to take notes, don't I:-)

* * *

**Arden: **//hugs// Honey! Don't worry about Henry. He's fine, and I'm glad he came to his senses, the silly mutant. And yes, M'Lady is wonderful. Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, and thanks for the review on top of all the wonderful (and mostly undeserved) praise you give me with e-mail! Hug Henry for me (and for my brother, and my sister, and my next door neighbor... I'm sure you can keep the list going) lol

**LadyOfThePlains: **More lists! Somebody catch me... I'm going to faint... oh, maybe I should loosen my corset. ;-) No kidding, I am currently sitting calmly in a museum, wearing a corset and about thirty pounds of skirts and highly (or perhaps lowly is better description lol) indecent neckline, and posting this chapter. With an expletive bustle to top the damn thing off. Historical fashion show I got blackmailed into //deep, loud, and melodramatic sigh that earns glare from curator// Sounds like you ought to have a happy man... never met but one guy that didn't appreciate a good gutter mind at least now and then, and that was my dad so it doesn't really count. Really glad you liked the chapter, ah aim to please! Thank Arden too, she's a wonderfully sparkly beta. And no, I didn't know about the stake thing... that's very useful... give me a sec while I find my room-mates girlfriend, I'd like her to hear about it up close and personal-like... ;-) You always give me the best ideas, I swear.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: **la-la-la, la-la-la... I can't hear you saying I don't own anything except Tris and the plot... la-la-la, hmm-hmm-hmm

I have come to a very important decision. Arden is not a goddess... she is _the_ Super-Goddess Devine of Beta-Hood (tm). Let no man, woman, or mutant call her anything else. All bow while Henry gives her a foot rub and feeds her ice cream (although no more than she wants), 'cause she's an awesomely cool Super-Goddess for deigning to beta this chapter for me //grovels// I would not have finished nearly this soon (if you can call it soon lol) without her. I bring her a chocolate fountain for her table, and Logan has the strawberries and whipped cream.

This chapter owes thanks also to my very own Jonathone (yes, that e really does belong in there.. wierd Cajun names), aka Remy, for the gift of James Herriot books

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

"Did you know that cats purr when they're in pain?"

I look up from my book, the fourth in a rather interesting series Jubes lent me. My ribs pain me only slightly - let's hear it for enhanced healing. Only four days and I'm practically ready to get back into training.

The room is dim, curtains thrown back and windows opened wide to catch the last few rays of a setting sun. A breeze rustles the trees below my window, and I shiver involuntarily with a glance towards the darkening sky. Something about a wind during twilight brings out an almost pagan fear in me. Clenching my jaw against the emotion, I close the windows emphatically with a flick of my mutation, latching them shut with a sense of relief. Even as my rational mind realizes that the thin panes of glass could not stop anything larger than a dragonfly, the childish conviction of barriers still comforts me.

Warren is laying on his stomach across the foot of my bed, wings spread to take up most of the mattress. I myself am curled precariously against the headboard, a situation I find abnormally comfortable. The blond (_blonde_ luvy!) head, intent upon a dog-eared and tattered copy of _All Creatures Great and Small_1 swings to note the windows movement before returning an intent blue gaze to my face. I concentrate on his question.

"No. I didn't."

Warren somehow achieves a lithe shrug from his position, and then returns to the volume. I watch him avidly, a shot of sunlight flickering across his face before the room is bathed in pale red light, which disappears equally suddenly moments later to leave us silent in the darkening room. A room, quite thankfully, that is now free of incessant beeping and bags of medications. Hell, I even had permission to eat something administered through the use of a fork yesterday. My first meal after the accident makes me cringe in remembrance - seems that Henry missed a bruised breadbasket2 due to the broken rib, meaning that the moment my digestion kicked in I was in an entirely new universe of pain.

I shake off the memories with another side-long glance at my teammate, fully engrossed in his book. Blonde hair, grown longer since his arrival, flops from behind his ear to hang nearly perpendicular to his face. I can't help a fond grin from emerging as he irritably brushes the hair back. Hey, I'm human, nearly, and I happen to have more than just friendly intentions towards the man on my bed. It's beginning to bother me that he hasn't brought up our date again since my 'accident' - it sounds so very invasive, but if I could only get a glimpse into his mind I would have a better idea of what to do. My relationship experiences are not exactly normal.

"You're staring at me."

I smile. Warren, like Logan and myself, often senses when someone is watching him.

"So? You're very stareable."

He flicks me an amused smile, the ice-blue eyes warming in a moment to languid tropical seas. Then returns, once again, to his book.

I would sigh, but I'm pretty well sighed out after the last four days. I've been flirting on and off the entire time, partially from boredom but mostly from attraction, and all I get are smiles and the occasional 'you should rest'. Does the winged idiot have feathers in his head as well? Or is it just empty space? Or perhaps... he has realized what I am. Not his type, precisely, the foster mutie from a little bit of everywhere. Perhaps this mild attention and deliberate ignoring of my impatient behavior is a deliberate message. A politely business-like relationship may be what he wants after all.

I do sigh at this, looking quickly down at my book afterwards in case Angel decides to turn his intent gaze my way. Four days of being essentially quarantined in my room has left me short of both temper and patience. I explained my feeling of sudden dizziness to Dr. McCoy, and in the absence of any medical evidence, which I think may be the only kind of evidence he finds believable - a printout - was told to 'remain isolated in the event that some malicious presence may be preying upon your distracted state'.

Still, I was promised that I would be allowed to leave tomorrow, barring any sudden complications. I cradle my head in my hand, smiling vacantly at the thought of a midnight swim tomorrow night. Maybe invite Warren to come... last time we were in the boathouse we established a rather nice atmosphere, even if it was the result of external pheromones. I could at least get him to tell me what's wrong.

Argh! I grit my teeth slightly. Too much time in one room with the same handsome man is addling my mind. I sound like one of those love-sick teenagers I used to observe at school with all the intensity and loathing that I would watch a trapped fly under a glass. Kitty is rubbing off on me, I just know it.

Raising a mental drink to the setting sun outside, I allow a toast to percolate through my mind. _May the world have gotten somewhat better while I was locked in my cave. Bah, humbug._

With that encouraging thought, I toss the book on my bedside table and wince slightly as I stretch. The rib still twinges occasionally, but has finally stopped itching. I take a deep breath, testing the strength of the newly healed bone. Only another twinge answers me, no stronger than the one I just endured.

I run my finger along the line of scar tissue that indicates where my cut wrist was. After the accident enlarged my wound, it failed to heal noticeably for nearly twenty-four hours. I was luckily asleep or drugged to the gills for most of it, but from what I hear Logan and Henry worried enough to fill the gap caused by my lethargy. Now only a slim pink line remains of the wound. I trace it again, feathery touches at first before firmly pressing downwards to test for pain. None, and even the pressure is noted dully. No doubt a few nerves were severed.

"Why do you do that?"

I guiltily snatch my hand away from the wound, his voice harking back to someone once telling me not to scratch at chicken-pox. Random thoughts again. I need to leave this room before I spontaneously start throwing things. Rebelliously I place my palm against the long knot of skin before answering. My memories cannot tell me what to do.

"It bothers me. The way I heal so fast."

Warren shoots me a surprised look and closes _All Creatures _with a flourish. Rolling his neck slightly and tucking another errant strand behind his ear, he sits upright in a mirror image of me, feet tucked securely under our calves in a lotus position. The white feathers of his wings stand out against the beige of the wall behind him while the blue eyes stare into mine from a few feet away. No matter what they are compared to, those feathers never seem to dull from anything other than commercial worthy white.

I hesitate, then explain further at his inquisitive expression.

"Sometimes, it feels as if the injuries are less important, because they're gone so fast."

I avoid his eyes, smiling ashamedly at the statement. True as it is, it never fails to make me feel somehow selfish, whether I utter it aloud or not. That I would complain about a mutation such as healing when Remy would likely love to be able to be up and about now, instead of barred from doing anything more strenuous than a pull-up, seems somehow juvenile and whiny to me.

Warren's wings whisper softly against the fabric of my bed as he shifts his position. Embarrassed at my abrupt disclosure I keep my eyes firmly on the bedspread, tracing a pattern with my gaze as it winds between blues and reds, a meandering line that ends next to Warren's bare foot. I hardly have time to register the sudden pressure on my chin before his finger pushes my chin upwards, forcing me to meet his eyes again. His face is oddly hesitant.

wWw

Warren meant to tell her not to be ashamed of feeling powerless to her mutation, but the sight of her timid green eyes looking into his stole his breath as surely as the feel of her soft chin on his forefinger and thumb. He searched her face for a sign, any sign, of initiation. The sound of Logan's voice telling him to 'leave th' girl 'lone 'till she's bet'er' became a soft mumble in the back of his mind, easily overpowered by the sound of his pulse.

But the eyes meeting his were not clouded with any emotion he could discern save that of distress.

Internally groaning, Warren untucked his feet from beneath himself and released Tris' chin. Pulling himself to the headboard beside her, Angel pulled the smaller mutant into a hug, ignoring the urge to make the embrace anything other than tender sympathy. She nestled easily into his shoulder. Four days in a room with Tris, whether she was asleep or not, happy or not, was trying his patience to remain true to the Canadian's request. His mind flashed back to the scene of several nights before.

_Logan had been standing in the kitchen, waiting for him to appear. An empty beer can was the only indication of just how long he had been waiting - Wolverine's posture was as loose and relaxed as if he had just arrived. Of course, considering the mutant's ability to practically inhale alcohol, he might have. His demeanor changed into a tense stance, however, as soon as Angel entered the room._

_"How is she?" His words were clipped, deliberately precise with eerily perfect pronunciation. Warren had set the tray in the sink with the rest of the dinner dishes and shrugged, wiping his hands absently on a dish towel._

_"Better. She ate everything." He indicated the empty bowl of what had been unappetizing mush an hour before. "Otherwise, she's about the same."_

_"An' her arm?" A hint of the Canadian accent crept back into Logan's voice with relief. After the first disastrous meal, Tris had practically refused to eat until Henry stormed upstairs and threatened to feed her with a needle. This resulted in a momentarily sulky attitude, attributed to the morphine by all except Hank, but clean plates._

_Warren re-wiped his hand for the tenth time, eyes gazing off over Wolverine's shoulder. "Dunno. Have to ask Dr. McCoy." _

_Logan grunted, and then reached out to grab Warren's elbow in a tight grip as the winged mutant began to walk past him to the exit. "Don' you be tryin' any funny business with Tris now she's doped up. I knew 'er to once tell me to check under 'er bed fer 'them' when she was on th' drugs, s' don' trus' wha' she tells ya. Leave th' girl 'lone 'till she's bet'er."_

_Warren nodded sharply, pulling his arm roughly from the hairy grasp. Partly affronted, but more ashamed at the idea of Logan thinking he would 'take advantage' of Tris in her drugged state, he stomped noisily off to the rec room before realizing that this was likely as close as Tris' adoptive father would get to giving his consent to a relationship._

"What's wrong?"

Warren realized his arms had stiffened around Tris while he delved in his memories. Sheepishly, he released her. "Sorry. Just thinking."

Tris looked up at him, her eyes still green and clear, mouth pursed in thought. "Do you know, I think I'd been too used to hearing everyone's thoughts before you came here." Her eyes looked over his shoulder blankly before locking back on his face. "Like, for example, Kitty and Kurt are having a discussion on the best way to cook eggs right now. And Jean is going through her summer clothes, trying to decide whether she should keep some of the swimsuits. Storm is meditating, the Professor..." she paused before resuming her dialogue with an embarrassed smile, "is telling me to keep to myself."

Warren, unable to help himself, laughed softly. "To be very honest, I'm glad you can't hear my thoughts."

Tris smiled back. "Do you know, I used to think the same thing, when I first came here. I was convinced that Jean and the Professor were constantly 'peeking'" She emphasized the last word. Warren looked down, realizing the proximity of their bodies. Bracing his hands on the covers he started to pull himself away, back to the safer and less tempting foot of the bed, when Tris reached out and brushed his shoulder with her fingertips before tightening the grip. He stopped, looking at her questioningly. She seemed to consider him, her hand still crumpling the tan shirt he wore as her fingers curled even tighter.

"Hey Tris! You're never going to belie..."

The sound of Jubilee's exuberant voice and distinctive combat boots thundered down the hall towards Tris' room. Warren pulled himself away from her reflexively, frowning when she tenaciously held on. The pounding in the corridor outside abruptly ceased, and a giggle could be heard before the clomping resumed in the opposite direction.

"What about Jubilee, don't you need..."

Warren hardly had time to shape the words forming in his brain with his mouth before Tris had released his shoulder and leaned towards him. He froze in shock as her face approached his slowly, her eyes fixed on his mouth. Stopping before contact, she glanced upwards at him through her lashes and waited.

xXx

I had finally figured it out. Try to kiss him, and kill two birds with one stone. A, I'll take care of that little to-do list, and B, if he tries to kiss me back, I know how to react to him from now on. If he isn't interested, than he isn't, but it would be so very consoling to know for certain. And... I would truly like to kiss him. The tiny taste I received a month ago was nothing but a brush. I want to kiss him, to taste him.

Jubilee was, I admit, rather untimely, but what's the point of being a telepath if you don't occasionally make use of the talent? She got the point soon enough - not a dim bulb, my Jubes girl. Now to wait.

I pause with only a breath between our lips, inhaling the musty odor unique to Warren, a combination of feathers and something else entirely him, layered over with cologne and shampoo. He inhales as well, and I note with surprise that his breath catches when I move closer. He must be affected, no matter how outwardly stoic Warren remains. My arms tremble where they support my weight, and I know it isn't because I gained weight because I next start to feel my ears burning slightly.

Warren remains stationary, and I peer upwards towards his eyes, trying to gauge his reaction to my presence. His blue eyes are shocked, iced over with a dazed look. I silently beg with my mind.

_Just... please. _

My call causes absolutely no reaction in its target. Warren's eyes are now expressionless, but as I begin to move away, his nostrils flare. The inhalation is shaky.

"Tris... um... did Hank give you anything recently?"

Ugh. I can tell he's trying to be funny and cute, but at the same time is very serious. "No."

"No morphine, hallucinogens, anything like that? Tylenol?" The last is hopeful, a plea for some excuse. I refuse to oblige, being the stubborn malicious brat Jubes once accused me of being.

"Nope." His breathe is warm on the bridge of my nose, and smells like Storm's green tea. He must have had some right before he came up.

"Oh."

I close my eyes, enjoying the proximity of his warm body, when I feel his lips on mine. Warm as the rest of him, hands grip the underside of my chin and side of my throat, encouraging my face upwards more. I might have resisted out of pure spite and cussedness at the preemptive grips - if I wasn't being kissed by Warren.

His abrupt lead surprised me until I felt the smooth weight of his tongue touch my lower lip before withdrawing as he runs his other hand down my neck. It rests there, heavy and firm against the tender skin, before he uses a roughly callused thumb to stroke my speeding jugular vein slowly, maddeningly. He is gentle, turning his head rather than making me turn mine to avoid collision.

His mouth tastes like tea, and he smells so delicious, feathers rustling as his lips moved over mine, asking for participation. I give it, pushing against him and moving myself closer to his body, wanting to touch him. I forget to be startled by his sudden move, forget to be appalled that I was running my hands up his chest, even almost managed to avoid the thought that Logan would be showing up soon to make sure I was 'doin' well'.

The last thought distracted me sufficiently to make the separation of our lips a shock. Warren pulls away as unexpectedly as he had pushed forward, his blue eyes vibrant, breathing loudly. I realize my own breath is somewhat ragged as I stare at Angel's shoulder, the height of my eyes.

"Oh."

I don't realize the soft exhalation is my voice until I reach up and trace my lips with a finger and feel them rounded and open. Warren smiles nervously, ducking his head until it dips into my range of stunned vision.

"Tris?"

His smile fades as I continue to stare at him. He kissed me. Warren kissed me. I think I might be excused if I just rerun that memory a few more times in awe. I've been kissed so many times; Piotr, some of the gang I stayed with, even Bobby once. But none of them had made me want to jump for joy and melt into a little pile of Tris-goo3 at the same time. I blink and look upwards at him, shocked by how flustered he looks. Somehow my smile doesn't seem to quite answer the numerous questions he implied into my single-syllable name.

"Yeah?"

He reaches out and runs his knuckles over my cheek. I lean into the caress as Warren turns his hand over, running the fingertips along a high cheekbone to my ear. My pulse jumps as he traces the pointed tip gently, supporting himself on one hand, his knees tucked under him and the large wings spreading around us in a white curtain. My eyes meet his as he leans his head downwards, touching us together, noses bumping gently. Every muscle in my body first clenches at the feeling of his thumb running on the sensitive flesh behind my ear, then loosens when he removes the hand, and finally tightening again when the palm moves south to the junction of my shoulder and neck. I reach out in kind, wanting to touch him, a forefinger sliding across his collarbone, fingers running up the back of his neck to tangle in the blond fringe.

He may have lost the drowned sparrow look, but every emotion of love and lust I felt that first night for the soaking wet Warren resurfaces with a vengeance.

Just as I tilt my face to meet his lips again, the sound of Logan swearing drifts through the door, closer than I would have ever credited the Canadian for being able to sneak, even with my blind spot in telepathy where he is concerned. Warren snatches his hand away at the noise and slithers off the bed, landing miraculously on his feet opposite me to face the door. I hardly have the time to both admire and curse the Danger Room honed reflex before Logan knocks on the green panel.

"Tris? Got some goo' news."

* * *

1 This is a wonderful series by a British vet named James Herriot. I would reccomend them for anyone interested in animals or a good read - they contain everything. One chapter will make you snort your drink and try to breathe through laughter, and then the next requires a box of tissue tho, just warning you. Most are snort-worthy however (and I'm going to stop typing snort before the person next to me in the moves... I swear, that happens scarily often...)

2 Means your large intestine/stomach muscles were bruised - so you can eat something, and you feel fine... until those muscles start contracting. Then it feels like a rusty knife is making it's ponderous way through your system, turning as it goes. Easy thing to miss initially, mainly because it causes very little swelling or external bruising, and it doesn't actually hurt until you start digesting the food. Then, whoo-ey. Ow. Got one once in a scrap, and mine took a week before I could actually start eating anything but milkshakes.

3 Very bad joke among my friends... have a girleen that lives nearby that is very obsessed with Depp. When she's watching him in a movie, I swear, she just puddles into the cushions with all these little 'ah's and 'oh's with the occasional 'OHMYGOD LOOK AT HIM!'s. Pretty funny actually, although we've learned not to watch _Pirates of the Caribbean 2 _with her - she likes to throw things at Elizabeth whenever she comes onscreen. ;-) Sorry Georgie-girl, but it's true

* * *

He he! I'm evil, I know... build you up like that, and then BAM! Earth to Warren and Tris. Damn. If I was a teke, I think I might just give Logan a little 'push' in the direction of the stairs, what do you think//dodges strawberry thrown from innocent-looking Logan's direction//

Reviews! You make me so happy, oh so happy - I went out and danced the j'talle (offshoot of the tango) just for you guys. So, if my partner thought all that was just for him, he was sadly mistaken, because it was for YOU! Because... well, you just make me want to dance the tango and eat Kit-Kat bars.

* * *

**Lady Of the Plains: **Oh, to see that familiar… typeface ;-) Your reviews always leave me with this feeling I can only compare to snuggling up with warm flannel sheets in winter. I know about the ducktape, trust me – I used to think ducktape held the universe together. Now I know it is in fact a combination of ducktape, scotch tape, and zip ties lol Seriously, the panel on the undercarriage of my car was once ducktaped and zip-tied on. You didn't have Health? I want to move there… it's a requirement here in high school to take Sex Ed and Health before your Senior year. I can't promise Henry didn't see that, in fact I think it's likely that Arden is letting him keep an eye on the story (just to make sure I don't make him OOC perhaps) ;-) Thanks for the great review, and I hope you like this chapter as well.

**Arden: **Arden! My beautiful beta! You are more than sparkly. You are so much _more _than sparkly, there is hardly even a sentence for it, much less a word – awe-inspiring blindingly neon sparkly is about as close as I can get. ;-) Good on the Henry front – you just keep that blue boy in his place. I'll have a little talk with him about the over-feeding tho, see if we can't get that sorted out... much as I love the wordy doctor, he _does _have a tendancy to go a little overboard on new ideas... Logan says hello, and he is very carefully glaring in the opposite direction as you, since I asked him to very nicely per your request… AHA! I have been meaning to ask you for some time, have you ever read _The Rose and the Beast _on FF? Pretty good Henry fic, you might like it.

**bmade: **I love you for reviewing! Twice//glomps// Sorry, I just tend to get overzealous when I read reviews. Hope you enjoy the rest of the story, and sorry about the update… if it weren't for Arden I probably would have done Botany instead, and imagine what a waste that would have been… ;-)

Speaking of something completely off subject, did anyone out there like that new film _Blood and Chocolate_? I went out to see it, and me and my seat warmer (it's what I call my psuedo-boyfriend) were the only ones in the entire theatre on the second day it was open, so I was just wondering if it was only me that thought it was reasonably decent... And goodness, all this non-fic stuff is almost a page! Signing off before I blather more!

Luv and foamy hot chocolate to everyone, Be Kat


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: **Having become recently rich (ie, I dug through the couch cushions...) I now have only several more billion dollars to go before I can skip this bit

//grovels on stomach// I know, I said this would come sooner... I know, I know //sniffles// I will try to do better

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

I close my eyes, squinting the lids shut and pulling the surrounding skin tight in frustration.

This. Is. Not. Fair.

Warren turns his head to look at me as I reopen my eyes, his own blue orbs somewhat glazed. The lean muscles are still taut, wings partially spread as Angel half-crouches in frozen confusion. The rapid change from passion to imminent discovery seems to have left him even more disconcerted than me. I click the lock open on the door with a twist of telekinesis, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed to stand. Rubbing my hands along the rough inseams of the somewhat wrinkled jeans I'm wearing, I try to grind away my feelings of impatience and anger. Why, when we've been alone for an hour, would Logan choose this time to come up? Why?! I was so far beyond beginning to enjoy myself it wasn't even funny.

The OCD1 hand-wiping doesn't help. I still want to pull handfuls of Logan's thick black 'ears' out by the roots. Wonder if the Wolverine could grow hair back at super speed?

My room looks precisely the same as it did a few minutes ago, if a bit gloomier. Warren's book is the only thing out of place, having fallen from its perch on the covers onto the floor when my teammate lunged off the bed. The spine twists back into shape as I bend to pick it up, trying not to wince as my diaphragm muscles bunch together over the tender rib. Standing, I nervously straighten to see Warren and Logan staring at each other, Wolverine with one hand on the doorknob and face twisted in a freeze-frame of his mid-sniff grimace.

The muttonchops jut outwards, following the line of the square jaw beneath them as Logan deliberately sniffs again and clenches his teeth together.

"You... flyboy... ge' ou'. I nee' ta talk wit' Tris."

For some reason, the muscles on the back of Warren's neck become tighten at the nickname. I narrow my eyes at the level of contempt in Wolverine's voice. What side of the den did _he _wake up on this morning? And here I was thinking I was in a bad mood earlier.

"I'll.. just... erm..." Warren's voice is confused, with an edge of shock. He steps towards me, and Logan allows him, still standing partially in the door. He turns a confused look from Angel to me, the furious mask dropping to reveal indecision

"Tris... di' Hank give y' any more pain-killers?"

I shake my head, and watch as Logan relaxes. What was that all about? Whatever it was, Warren and Logan seemed to have corrected the misunderstanding with a single cryptic look, overtones of apology on Wolverine's face. Men, mutant or otherwise, are beyond me at times.

Warren moves to stand just behind my left shoulder. He nudges the back of my elbow with his forearm, jostling my arm for attention. Logan stares at the offending appendage. I try to set him straight with a return glare and pivot my head to glance at Angel. Lips twitch as my team mate raises a single expressive eyebrow.

"I'll head downstairs. See you at dinner?"

I nod, and watch the blue eyes soften as he smiles. Flicking his eyes towards Logan, he touches my cheek briefly before heading briskly towards the doorway. Sidling around Wolverine, who still has his eyes fixed suspiciously on Warren's face, he grins cheekily back at me and walks from sight. His quiet footsteps fade on the stairwell before Logan says anything.

"So... you an'..." The stress of actually saying 'flyboys' name seems to be beyond his irate vocal cords, no matter how calm he appears. He settles for approaching me, waving his hands vaguely.

"Warren?" I shrug. A thrill runs through me, slow warmth jumping from cell to cell, starting somewhere around those brief touches on my cheek and ending up in the vicinity of my ankles. I impulsively hug Logan, who freezes. I hold on, waiting, and as the feel of his hands on my back in a return embrace is all the 'permission' I need.

Pulling away, I reach up and pull at his hair, lightly. "You do realize how much I wanted to put a permanent dent on your adamantium skull, right? Not very polite, barging in like that."

Logan smirks and rolls his eyes, needlessly running a hand through his naturally styled hair. I back away from him, idly picking up a brush from the dresser and rotating it in my hands.

"So, you said you had good news?"

Logan nods. "No need t' have... him... bring up th' dinner. Hank says y' can come down."

I close my eyes. Leaving this room... getting out... I think I may have to dance a happy pagan dance2.

"Now?" I manage to choke out the single word. Logan nods in response, his slow smile spreading across the expressive lips, eyes squinting slightly. I smile back, allowing the breath I've been figuratively holding back for the last two days to escape. Picking up a sweatshirt hanging lopsided over the desk chair and tossing the brush into the void of my magazine rack, I bolt out the door before Logan can stop me. Calling over my shoulder to Logan, I feel my bare feet gripping the hard floor as I trot towards the stairs.

"Shut the door for me, Wolvie?"

Pulling on the sweatshirt, I stop at the head of the stairs and stare down the long and partially dark stairwell apprehensively. No matter how bubbly my feelings are right now due to a combination of freedom and Warren, I still balk at the idea of blithely tripping down something that only days ago tried to kill me.

Alright, so maybe it wasn't the stairs themselves, but the feeling is still there. I'm actually worried about walking down a flight of stairs that I used to run up and down twenty times a day. Hell, I seem to remember skipping up them a mere week ago. And now I'm standing here, wondering if I should turn around and climb out my window instead.

wWw

Warren paused in the corridor below the dormitories, listening intently. He could have sworn he just heard Tris say something.

There it was again.

Sliding his feet carefully along the floor, comprising of the same burled oak boards as Xavier had put in everywhere there wasn't carpet or stone, Warren turned his head, listening intently with first one ear, and then the other. This time he gleaned a piece of conversation.

"Truly... as if I would be... not fair... think the window..."

Confused, Warren poked his head around the corner to see Tris standing indecisively at the top of the dorm stairs. One foot was frozen above the first the step, the other planted firmly on the landing. She was muttering to herself, the hovering bare appendage now dodging down to touch the step, now pulled up and balanced as a cat holds a wet foot.

Warren couldn't help it, he honestly couldn't. The snort of laughter he tried to hold in brought Tris' bright eyes to focus on him, the slitted pupils narrowing until all he could see from the bottom of the dark stairs was an expanse of bluish-green iris.

"It's not funny."

Tris' snap of anger made him blink. She blinked in return, seeming as surprised as he by her outburst. "I mean... sorry." She dodged her head to the side in a sharp movement, reminiscent of a bird, before decisively placing her foot down on the stairs. Clutching at the railing, she descended slowly and painstakingly.

Warren stood in his position at the foot of the stairs, watching her descend. Something about the hard line of her jaw and the flash of her eyes when he started to extend an assisting hand warned him from helping her. In fact... she was determined to do this on her own. He could _feel _it.

_Feel _it?

Was he empathing? Was this what it was like?

Warren, oblivious to the fact that he was staring at Tris as she descended, tried to catch the fleeting feeling before it faded. He grasped after it, like a memory from childhood dimly remembered, catching only the aftertaste of pride and fear. It actually tasted, physically tasted, well, metallic. But he instinctively knew it was fear, this sharp tingling in his mouth and cheeks, just as he knew it was pride that made the muscles in his abdomen burn with sudden warmth.

It took Tris touching his wrist gently to remind him to return to the present. She was watching him inquisitively.

"You 'kay?"

He could _feel _her again with the brush of her slender fingers against his bare flesh. This time the feelings were stronger, with an overtone of apology that made his nose itch. Was this what empathy was like, this physical manifestation?

It was bloody irritating.

And then, just as inexplicably as their intrusion, the emotions disappeared, leaving him with a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach. Tris looked upwards at him, her brows drawn together, the black lines striking against her pale skin in the gloom of the stairwell. Her lips were partially open, about to ask a question.

So Warren kissed her again.

It wasn't so much a decision as a reaction, he mused as Tris' hand moved from his wrist to the back of his hand with startling speed, her lean and almost femininely hard body standing on tiptoe and pulling him downwards. Unlike most popular depictions, Warren preferred to keep his eyes open when he was kissing, although Tris seemed to follow the general population in closing hers. She was less aggressive than he might have expected from her, even barring the tight contact of her hands with his hair and shoulder. Her lips moved along his carefully, delicately, skimming with tantalizing grace against his skin as she broke the kiss and move to nuzzle her mouth against his jaw.

Warren found he was having trouble keeping his breath even. He seemed to be examining the situation both dispassionately, from an objective distance that noted the precise texture of Tris' lips against his skin as she lightly grazed her teeth against his earlobe, while another piece of his mind reacted with a burning fire that ran throughout his body. He moved his head to reclaim her lips, pulling her against himself. One hand curled possessively in the small of her back as the other gripped her upper arm lightly, his wings curling around them again. Something about her made him reckless.

It scared him, the depth of his commitment he felt towards a slip of an unknown girl.

This sudden switch in their relationship, from hidden longing to passionate embraces in the public corridors, was on the verge of disturbing him.

But it was so very hard to be disturbed when she was turning her head and opening her mouth just so, in just the right way, God, where did she learn this?

Without contemplating the results, Warren moved his palm from the small of his team mate's back to her side, meaning to encompass the thin ribcage and pull her more closely against him. He wanted to feel the softer flesh of her stomach and breasts, coupled inexplicably with the hardened muscles in her shoulders and back. Instead, Tris winced away from his touch, breaking the kiss and incidentally maneuvering herself out of his embrace.

Angel instantly released her, his hands flying away into an innocent gesture, palms outward and facing Tris. This entire flying apart from each other in the midst of full-on lip lock was becoming bothersome.

"Ow! Sorry, Warren, my rib..." She shrugged helplessly, moving back to hug him loosely, looping her arms around his waist. Warren, startled from the swift reaction and even faster withdrawal, tightened his arms around her carefully.

She scared him sometimes, only her, all by herself and smiling frozen in the portrait gallery of his mind. She was so changeable, and so unknown. He really didn't know much about the person he was currently embracing, did he? A few sordid details about her past, preferences in music, allergies or lack thereof. So very little.

But had he ever known any more about former lovers?

Logan's snort of disgust broke them apart yet again as he clomped noisily down the stairs and brushed past the couple to continue down the hallway, casually avoiding all eye contact.

Tris hung her head, laughing softly. Warren joined her after a moment, the empathy question now once again prevalent in his mind. He rubbed his neck self-consciously in a habitual gesture as he tried to think of the right words to approach Tris about the subject.

After all, she was a touch-empath, right? She should know something about the phenomenon.

"Nothing against your kissing skills Warren," and she reached out and brushed her fingers down his arm in one of those casual caresses she seemed to give without thinking about it, "but I'm starving."

Warren nodded and grinned. Time enough later for questions. Now they could reassure everyone that Tris was recovered.

xXx

I couldn't help it. I stared with longing, with pure love evident in my eyes.

There are simply so few words that can truly describe Storm's lasagna.

wWw

Warren picked lightly at his food. While he was certain it was good, if Tris' enthusiastic and rapid eating was any indication, Angel wasn't terribly hungry.

Scott, Aurora, Beast, Logan, Kitty, and for first time he could remember, Xavier, were all stuffed companionably together. The dining room, with its spacious seating, had been vetoed in favor of the trestle table in the much smaller kitchen. He felt like he might either knock somebody over or catch himself on fire from the lit stove if he extended so much as one feather.

Besides the mild claustrophobia, the silences scattered midst the chatter made him feel like he was being strangled, an undertone of companionship and bonding that he felt excluded from.

Until Kitty turned and accidentally dropped a piece of bread in his lap, when the table's eyes were drawn to him and his seatmates. Tris, sitting on his right, giggled and made some comment on the valley girl's aim, which was speedily rewarded by Kitty phasing her hand through Warren to drop the roll on Tris' head instead. Tris tossed the bread onto her plate, and lightly elbowed Warren, telling him to pass it on to Shadowcat. And just like that, he was included. He hadn't been overlooked, merely assumed to understand his acceptance.

His hand curled around the handle of his knife convulsively. The empathy was getting worse, an itch that wouldn't go away. What the hell had happened to those impenetrable shields he was supposed to have?

Warren began to raise his arm to rub at the muscles in his neck, taught and painful, only to remember the sharp utensil still clutched tightly in his hand. Looking down, he released the smooth metal finger by finger, trying to ignore the bombardment of feelings around him.

His rebellious mind had a sudden thud back to reality when Tris accidentally touched his hand, reaching past him to snatch the butter from Hank. The world around him abruptly switched off, leaving Angel alone with his thoughts.

If he hadn't know what empathy and telepathy were, if he hadn't already gone through having enormous wings sprout from his back, Warren thought wryly that he might have turned himself into the nearest hospital and begged for treatment. How did Jean and Xavier deal with the unexplainable voices in their heads, at the beginning, before the school?

Xavier stopped in mid-conversation and turned to face Angel. The lights shone reflected from his bare skull as he stared thoughtfully at Warren. Simultaneously, Tris choked on her water.

"Profes..."

Logan stopped, watching Tris and Xavier watching Warren, who tried to look like he didn't know why the two telepaths at the table would be staring at him. It had to be his errant empathy, they must have noticed it. From the growing anger on Wolverine's face, he wasn't succeeding very well. What had he done today to make Logan so angry... well, besides kiss Tris? He had thought that the Canadian and him had a compact of sorts - he wouldn't hurt Tris, and Logan would let him live.

He noted that the two mutants will still staring at him. "What?"

The telepaths abruptly looked away, becoming occupied with their food. Jean came through the doorway, a welcome distraction in a crimson skirt, cloth rustling as she bent to get something out of the refrigerator. Logan looked away.

"Nothing."

Tris' belated answer to his question drew his attention back to her and away from a lethargic examination of Jean's calves. How did these women put on so much muscle without steroids?

"Hm."

Angel returned to his aimless rearrangement of the food on his plate. Tris glanced at him out of the corner of her eye before sighing as the last piece of lasagna disappeared down the slender throat.

"Warren, I'm off to the boathouse. Coming?"

The question, which would have sounded pretentious and nearly commanding if Warren hadn't know her better, was instead a friendly invitation. He nevertheless glanced at Beast first. The blue mutant nodded, lifting a napkin delicately to the fanged mouth.

"Tris is sufficiently recovered, but should not immerse the wrist in unsanitary aquifer for some time yet."

Tris nodded. "Kay." Hank tucked his chin down to stare at the telepath over the rim of his glasses before looking up at Warren.

"You'll ensure her compliance, won't you Warren? I would appreciate it."

Warren, with a lingering foreboding that compliance was not something he could ensure in the matter of Tris, nodded anyways. He could try, after all.

* * *

1 Actually a symptom of more advanced OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) along with fidgeting with buttons to get them just right, obsessively rearranging place settings, or smoothing out pants/skirts to perfection. I think OCD people must have an attack just looking at me walk by in my sweatshirt, jeans, messy bun hair, partially untied shoes, and on occasion, mismatched socks. What can I say? You get up at 4:30 and hair and socks lose whatever interest they might have once had.

2 If you've never danced the happy pagan dance (also known as the hpd, _not _to be mistaken for the Harry Potter dance, HPd, which is performed as you are in line buying the next Harry Potter book that has finally come out), you've never fully lived. It generally involves a great deal of jumping up and down, twirling, and hugging of random people for me, but to each their own... I had a bf who simply sat there and _thought _about dancing the hpd when something good happened. //coughlosercough:p

* * *

Arden... I hum thy praises to the sky. I would sing, but giving y'all a headache isn't much thanks for reading, is it:-) The lovely Skysender is so wonderfully amazing for continuing to beta this fic, despite my unending inability to understand the English language when it comes to grammer and paragraph construction. I honestly don't know how I would get along without her. //glomps with chocolate// But there's still more to my gratitude...

In fact, I want to announce a new holiday... Arden-day. On this day, we will all bow down to the gracious, brilliant, and brilliantly sparkly Arden and bring her gifts of chocolate and Beast fanfic. Henry can be the usher; I imagine he'd look smashing in a tux... I'd try to get Logan into a suit, but I have this creeping feeling that the poor broadcloth would never make it to his closet without being shredded. Still, there's a good deal that can be said for those jeans of his. //thinks// Maybe as my Arden-Day gift, I could get a pair for Henry...

Alright, so I'm going to try a new tactic... I get you lot more chapters sooner, but they will be shorter. I am so sorry about the lateness of the update - I'll really really really try not to let it happen again :-(

And now to your lover-ly reviews.

**Lady of the Plains: **Oh, you definately should read them. Herriot has a way with stories, and some of them are great for kids as well... Vin Diesel. Don't kill me, but I just didn't see the fuss over him. Thought he was decent in the _Pitch Black _series tho.

**LorrieDriver: **I got the compliment, and it gave me warm fuzzies. :-) I do try very hard to avoid Mary-Sues... I sort of went through this Sue-stage a few years ago, and have been trying to avoid a repeat ever since. //winces// I'm black and blue from that stick, tho its my own fault for not updating sooner... :-( Hope you like this chappie as well!

**Arden Skysender: **Almost?! I loved that story, so I'm greatly flattered. Of course, your continued and beautiful beta-ing flatters me to the point of blushes. You DO write the story to a certain extent without your pokes (and LorrieDrivers Stick!) I wouldn't be nearly as unpromptly prompt about updating as I am. Logan will be visiting soon, and he's bringin' chopsticks. Don't know why but he is. And tell Henry he's welcome any time - I'll stock up the Twinkies!

**BMade: **So, since it took me so long to update this has sorta lost it's relevance... //sigh// _Blood and Chocolate _was interesting, but I think it was mostly because me and my guy friend were the only two in there... it was fun to be able to talk and yell during the movie without anyone shushing us. Hope you liked it tho, since I'm sure you've seen it since!

* * *

Okay, so I'm already started on the next chapter... Just a little preview, I'll (or rather Henry, if he'll condescend to do it for me, the lovable blue teddy bear) be talking about phages and viruses and fun infectious stuff like that. If you aren't into all that, don't worry, it'll all be expained. If, however, you know about them already, brownie and chocolate-covered cherry points to you! 


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: **I'm out of work, I just finished paying for my textbooks... if you want to sue me, about I all I could come up with would have to include the contents of my sock drawer...

Arden//throws rose petals and and red carpet out// I cannot begin to describe how your wonderful beta-ing makes me feel... the closest I can come is scruptioslyumptious... because, honestly, the only time I can say it is if I'm so happy I could explode... ;-) Give Arden her props people, is she not the most awesomely perfect beta in the entire universal digital fandom?

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"Come on, just a little further..."

Warren is a dead weight on my hand, so I let go of him to fling the double windows open. They clatter gently against the mansion's stone walls.

"Tris, I thought we were going down to the lake."

I turn inwards, away from the pale sky. The front lawns, usually veiled in complete darkness at this time, is instead alight from the nearly full moon. The golden rays made Warren's already bleach-blond hair glow. I shiver slightly, more from the night than cold. Something about a summer harvest moon, opulent with all the latent superstitions every human and mutant possesses, brings me up here or down to the boat house. And since Hank has banned me from moonlight swimming, I'm left with the roof.

"Come on."

I hiss the words softly, smiling at myself. Why am I whispering? Half the mansion is gone, and the rest are safely ensconced downstairs watching _Princess Bride_.

"You're kidding."

The flat statement, spoken in Warren's carefully manicured accent, strikes me as hilarious for some reason. I suppress a spurt of laughter and frown at him instead. "Come _on._ You're not scared of heights, right?"

A shuffle in the attic behind me. "No, but.. aren't you?"

I snort with impatience. "Yes, but I don't look down. The roof isn't wet, slippery, or even hot, so no real danger."

Stepping up I slide out onto the fake 'balcony', placing my feet sideways on the small shelf of stone jutting away from the window at an angle so as to appear larger from the front of the mansion. From there it's just a small step to swing around to the roof itself. The sandpaper texture of the shingles grates on my bare toes as I scrabble slightly for footing, feeling as always that brief second of terror that I will fall. The moment over, I turn to peer around the vestibule covering the attic windows, my fingers gripping the rim tightly as I refuse to even think about looking down. While my earlier confident statement wasn't precisely a lie, it wasn't exactly the entire truth either. The agoraphobia's not nearly as bad once I'm away from the edge.

Warren hung his upper body out of the window, peering downwards. His movements to follow me are jerky and almost too cautious - he lacks the coordination born of practice that helps with such tight footing, not to mention the better night vision my mutation visits upon me. I crab my way up the roof to make room for him, but forget to add room for his wings. As a result, I end up being buffeted as he spreads them for better balance.

"Shit! Sorry, but it's so dark..."

Laughing softly, I rearrange my hair away from my face. "What'd I tell you about apologizing about your wings?"

Warren blinks, and then smiles shyly, tucking his chin down in that school boy mannerism of his that he does when he gets embarrassed. I grin and turn away, leading him by silent example to the ridgepole.

The mansion's ridgepoles, old and weathered, may have once been too sharply angled to allow for comfortable lounging. Now however, they have mellowed to soft rounded edges and worn shingles. I absently pick at a piece of exposed tar paper1 and remind myself to remind the professor to think about redoing the roof before next winter.

Warrens lowers himself beside me, copying my posture to lean on his elbows. Our clothes protect us from the sharper edges of the roofing, and we lay silently side by side, chins raised just high enough to look over the high point and out across the mansion grounds. The wind that sweeps over the high roofs in the winter is molded into a soft warm breeze during the summer months, and I wonder briefly how we must look from down below. Probably like snipers from a bad secret service flick.

Warren shifts beside me, pulling himself farther up the angled roof and settling his head down into folded arms. The breeze, giddily playing with the highest branches of the trees, sweeps through his hair. He irritably pats it flat again before nestling himself against the roof, crossing his feet over each other and flicking a leaf away from his face. The leaf, following the breeze, blows straight into my hair.

Noticing this, Warren heaves himself up a little to rest on one elbow, picking the green foliage out of my dark curls without a word to release it. We both follow its path with our eyes as it rasps along the shingles, catching here and there only to break free again, until it eventually falls over the gutter and out of sight.

I sigh quietly and roll my shoulders slightly to loosen them, watching Warren out of the corner of my eye. He seems to be ignoring me, instead looking up at the stars. I close my eyes and wonder what he's thinking. Is he worried? Upset? Confused? Angry? All of the above? What does he think about... us?

Drat him and his impenetrable shields.

I'm so engrossed in thinking about my team mate that the touch of his hand on my arm surprises me. I make a half-jolt of surprise at the contact, meeting Warren's eyes with the question evident in my face before I even ask it.

"What?"

He shakes his head negatively, pursing his lips and frowning as his fingers dig a little deeper into my muscle. The stitches above his eyebrow, still in place, pucker. The bruising is mostly gone, not that even I could see it in this light, but I feel a small wave of remorse nonetheless. If my survival instincts leave a scar on that face I'm going to have to punish myself somehow.

The hand on my arm flies away like Warren just touched a hot pan. He stares at his fingertips in shock, and then reaches up to rub under his chin. I hear the rough stubble nearly all men seem to miss under there rasp slightly.

I slowly pull his hand away from his face and cup it between my fingers, waiting for any resistance. Instead of the expected pull, even if it's just that of his arm's weight, I feel him following my lead. Swinging my legs around to fold them under me, the half-kneeling position on the angled roof may be awkward but it allows me to face Warren. Closing my eyes, I tuck the warm hand under my chin in imitation of his movement and try to feel his mind.

I find it open. Not the 'centers' that I would normally find gaping in my easily read team mates, those consisting of surface thoughts and their emotions. Instead the equivalent of a poorly functioning mental black hole2 threatens to suck me in against my will.

In other words, his empathy is finally functioning.

The 'feel' reminds me of something. Something from not so long ago...

I gradually open my eyes to see Angel looking at me with an unreadable expression. I try again to pull anything from the physical contact about his mental status, either through touch empathy or telepathy, but come up with a blank as usual.

"How long?"

He shakes his head, which combined with a negligent shrug, gives me the impression that either he's avoiding telling me, or he doesn't know. I grasp at my memory's faulty filing system, and come up with searing pain along my ribs. Searing pain along my ribs... falling down the stairs... Remy, Xavier, Jean... and _Warren._

"It was you."

My voice is distant from the still furiously clacking gears of my brain. Someone brought me back. I remember that much. Jean and Xavier trying to keep me conscious, along with the weak empathy of Remy. But it was the distinctive signature of Warren that dragged me, kicking, screaming, and kinetically throwing people against walls, back to full consciousness. I poke Angel's shoulder, hard.

"You've been manifesting empathy for almost a week and you didn't tell me?"

I wonder if he talked with Xavier, but discard the thought as irrelevant as his startled blue eyes focus on me in the semi-darkness. He pulls his hand away.

"Is it my empathy then? The... tastes?"

He licks his lips with just the tip of a blunt red tongue, seeming to want to show just how distasteful he found the sensation. I ponder the question, holding my exuberant wish to jump up and down while hugging something to a bare minimum. Warren's useful and most powerful mutation is finally deciding to come out and play.

"Tastes?"

He nods again, eyes never leaving mine. "Things... people... they taste, and feel different sometimes. When I'm around them. Today"

I break our eye contact and hunker back on my heels, crouching to face the moon. The formerly playful breeze feels colder. So he's only just started noticing it today. That must have been what I felt down at the table.

"Like, your skin tingles when someone's angry?" I flush slightly, knowing I'm grasping at straws for something helpful to say. My empathy has never expressed itself in this manner, but Remy once irritably told me to either go away and let his skin relax or calm down, _p'tite pri'ere3. _Perhaps Warren's mutation expresses itself in the same way.

He shakes his head. "Feelings, and tastes... metallic. Like blood almost, when you were coming down the stairs." His head turns slightly towards a noise from the mansion grounds, but the focus of his eyes remains stubbornly on me. The nature of his sentence, disjointed, clues me in more than the tone of his carefully neutral voice. It makes me wonder if he comes by it naturally, or if watching his father made him a natural politician early in life. Still, he isn't talented enough to hide that he doesn't like these feelings, whatever they are. I poke him again, this time softly in the palm of his upturned hand. He looks from my face to our hands and closes his fingers into a fist, trapping my fingers gently.

"You were afraid."

I look at our hands as well. Was I projecting? I must have been. Unless I'd let my shielding down, which I doubt. I'm far too strong a projector for my shields to be down _and_ the professor not to notice and tell me. So... this means what?

I absently scratch at the now healed scar on my wrist. Still itches like a mother sometimes, but at least the stitches are gone. Warren's palm is sweating slightly and he releases my hand, looking fully away from me for the first time towards the city lights twinkling in the distance.

His voice when he speaks would be almost emotionally dead if I didn't know his numerous tones so well. It's his 'I'm-distraught-but-trying-to-hide-it' voice. "Is that abnormal? The physical..." A Klingon4 worthy ridge appears between his eyebrows. It clears as he finishes the sentence. "... manifestations?"

I shrug and curl his hand around my fingers again, curving my other palm to fit around his larger fist. While we've been physically close for so long as friends that the act doesn't bother me, I feel him twitch slightly before his hand tightens deliberately around mine. I slide over and snuggle against his side without disturbing our hands. He doesn't exactly snuggle back... Warren hardly ever does... but the slightly lowered shoulder is obviously an invitation to rest my head.

So I do.

wWw

Warren let out a deeply held breath slowly.

_One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi..._

Tris' head on his shoulder put her hair against his cheek. He smiled, and then shook his head minisculely as the grin somehow made some of her hair escape into his ear.

It was then that the empathy attacked again. He clenched the fist not entwined with Tris' hands, digging the nails into his palm to stop from moving at the spreading warmth in his chest. Tris was so happy it _hurt_.

"Hey Warren?"

His hand relaxed. He squeezed his other hand around hers gently. "Mm?"

"Remy's empathy works like that, I think. You should ask him."

Warren felt something approaching a rush of relief. He wasn't that different then. He wasn't sure why it would bother him so much to be different when he already had a wingspan for God's sake, but just knew that it would.

Feeling expansive, he extended a wing over Tris in reflection of his mood. She sighed.

Deflated, Warren retracted the wing. Tris took her head off his shoulder and looked up at him. Angel couldn't see her very well, even with the nearly full moon above, but her expression seemed troubled.

"Why'd you do that?"

Warren drew away. He should have know that someday those same wings he had just been thinking about would bother Tris. "I'm sorry."

"Well, you should be. It was blocking the wind."

Warren blinked and got the feeling he was missing something. The trees below him rustled as a giggle broke out, followed by the _whoosh_ of wings. Sounded like Jubilee was being chased by Diane.

"I thought you didn't want it."

Tris sighed again, although this time it was more of an exasperated huff. "Warren, if I didn't want you to put a wing out, I would have asked you to take it back."

Warren, reassured as to her feelings about his mutation, re-extended the wing, covering Tris. She sighed again and rested her head against his upper arm. They lay there, quiet and relaxed in the moonlight, for several minutes.

Warren let his eyes dart from movement to movement within his realm of vision. A leaf fluttering... something that looked vaguely like a cat running to the boathouse... someone's red head sticking up over the gutter...

"Gah!"

Tris' head snapped off his shoulder, hitting the underside of his wing painfully.

"Warren, what the hell..." Tris surged upwards and made a noise that Warren imagined resembled a cat being strangled as the rest of Diane crawled over the roof edge, using dexterous long red fingers aided by wings to pull herself off the sheer brick wall and onto the roof.

"Sorry guys... Logan's rounding up the Juniors, and Jubes was out having fun. I had to go warn her, but by then Logan was outside the house watching balconies, and..." She stared at them, Warren supporting himself on his elbows, Tris half-standing. "Um... I'll just take the attic window in, all right? You didn't see me."

As swiftly as she had appeared, Diane tucked her wings in and did a somersault off the eaves and directly through the window. Warren closed his eyes, snapped them back open as Tris stood. She was looking down between her feet.

"Something's wrong..."

xXx

In general, my telepathy is like a badly tuned quiet radio. I'm not really listening to the multitudes of thoughts around me, but at the same time I can't really turn it completely off. Instead they just keep up a running commentary in the back of my mind, where I can ignore them.

But when all those voices are thinking the same thing, it's like the note that shatters a crystal glass5. Once combined the strength of all those minds is stronger than a straight 'path from Xavier.

And at the moment, every mind I could find was thinking a variation of _Oh shit! _with the exception of Remy, who was mentally cursing in French.

Ignoring Warren, still on his stomach next to me, I stare at the roof intently, waiting for someone to tell me what's going one.

A few seconds later, and I'm still waiting.

Another few seconds, and Warren stands up, putting his hand in the small of my back nervously. "What's wrong?"

I answer him out of the corner of my mouth, keeping my eyes fixed downwards on the roof.

"The mansion's yelling."

Only after I peruse the sentence do I realize that it's very likely to make poor Warren even more confused. Oddly enough, he just nods and removes his hand to my shoulder.

It's odd that nobody has time to tell me what's wrong. Oh well, guess it's time for a little diving. I grasp at Kurt's mind, seeing as how he's one of the few non-telepaths that keeps his public mind unclouded and generally organized.

What I find is nothing like what I expected, and everything I didn't want to hear.

* * *

1 Tar paper is the black construction paper-like stuff they put on a roof before shingling it. Helps to keep extra moisture out until the final roof is completed, and then acts as an extra barrier.

2 A black hole is actually one of those odd astronomical 'dunnos'. They apparently suck everything - including light - away, which is actually the only way we know they exist - these spaces of 'nothing'. Just where this 'away' is still a little fuzzy according to the scientific community. A black hole is generally _thought_ to be a collapsed star that ran out of fuel and imploded into this little(star speaking-wise at least) ball with intense gravity and this weird ability to bend space and possibly time around it. That is two months of Astronomy 10 and Physics 4B condensed, by the way :-)

3 "Please little one"

4 My mum's a Trekkie... I can't help it, honestly, it's in the genes... :D Actually, I much prefer _Firefly_

5 This really is possible... my physics prof did it. Apparently everything has a certain 'resonance', and if you hit the right counter resonance... //bangcrashtinkle// there goes your glass.Of course, I've found bumping into rickety old coffee tables at my grandmothers can usually accomplish the same thing... ;-)

* * *

I have a funny story... I set a fire... :D Actually, I set an explosion by accident in the Organic Chem lab. Everyone's fine (thank god I was working in the hoods) but the backs of my fingers just got a free waxing...

I'm doing better, right? Okay, so here's the drill. I update a minimum of every ten days, and you lot continue to leave me loverly reviews! I'm sorry about no phages and fun stuff like that, but it IS coming, I swear.

**Arden: **I have Henry here, stuffed to the brim with twinkies... Tye (the clueless bf) is currently having an indepth discussion with Henry about a thoraxio-something-or-other... thank God I don't have to take Anatomy for another year lol. As usual, you make me want to burst with happiness that you deign to be my beautiful beta... hope the story keeps living up to your expectations! BeKat religion... I like the sound of that... I hereby decree that my pope Arden is to preside over Monday, my day of worship, where worshippers will eat chocolate all day in my honor. Think I'll have a large following? ;-) You're the best babe - after all, I may be a religion, but you are a Godess :D


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: **Me own this? I think someone had a little too much to drink last night… :D

Once again, let us bow to Arden… come on, you in the back, bow… I glory in her reflected brilliance at beta-ing this story.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

The scenes moving through my mind show Remy having convulsions in the Rec Room. Rogue is screaming, trying to hold him down without touching him, the rest of the team leaving overturned tables and chairs in their rush to help her.

I/Kurt, with me peeking into his public mind to watch, jumps back in time to avoid a flying limb from Remy - can't tell which it is, foot or hand - to see the clock next to me/us rattle and begin to glow. My/our gaze switches rapidly to an odd viewpoint, looking down on the commotion. It takes the detached and fully Tris part of my mind a moment to realize that Kurt is hanging from the chandelier. Hank thunders into the room, glasses askew and lab coat billowing after, just as I break the link in time with the clocks explosion.

I reel backwards into Warren, feel his arms enfold me against his chest. I can't help it, I'm gasping for breathe and clutching at him, with one purpose locked into my mind.

Pushing him away, I stagger slightly in my haste towards the upper window. Gripping the eaves with enough force to crumble the weathered shingles directly under my fingers, I scramble into the room. Warren follows me, his jeans catching on the rim of the window and ripping loudly. He swears and calls after me, demanding to know what's going on. I ignore him, intent upon unscrambling the now desperate cries for help from Jean.

She's calling Xavier.

Skidding on the stairs, the worn carpet ragged under my feet, I kinetically open the doors before I reach them, Warren thundering in my wake and slamming the panels shut. Aware of his presence, I want to stop and explain what little I know, but the mantra _no time, no time, notimenotimenotime _runs through my head like a train, crushing all other thoughts away.

Remy is hurt, he needs help.

Rogue is still screaming.

Kitty is crying against Kurt.

Bobby is running from the grounds into the house.

Jubilee is climbing out of the shower, wrapping a towel around herself and hitting her shin on the doorway.

_Professor! He's bleeding, his stitches, we can't hold him!_

Jean's voice screeches through my mental 'eardrums', driving the mantra away to be replaced with the booming telepathy of Xavier.

_Tris! We need your empathy in the rec room, NOW!_

I slow, stopping at the dorm stairs. It's the shortest way down, no time to stop, no time, no time. Jubilee runs into me, followed closely by Warren. He pushes around me and, with wings tucked against himself, runs down the corridor and out of sight, arms pumping frantically, seemingly ignoring my absence behind him. Jubes shoves against my shoulder, and I hiss at the dart of pain that jars down to the just-healed scar on my arm.

"Chica, move!"

I clatter gracelessly down the stairs, landing on all fours at the base. From there I can see the Rec Room in shambles as Xavier's wheelchair, on its side and blocking the doorway, starts to glow just like the clock. Warren drags the cumbersome wheels out of the way, yelping and releasing it to suck at his fingers only once the entrance was cleared. I fall to Remy's side without a clear idea of how I managed to get there.

The professor and Jean are on the floor across from me. Remy is still, far too still.

_No time, no time._

I inhale the fear in the room and pull the Cajun's head into my lap laboriously, his body heavy with motionless and lax muscles. Jean and Xavier, both panting, watch hopelessly. Rogue sobs against Logan, and Henry taps a needle against his thumbnail, muttering about adrenalin while eyeing me and Remy equally.

Warren sits next to me, his shoulder brushing mine, our hips touching. I relax at the comfort pouring off of him, inhale yet again, and touch my fingers to the closed lids that flutter over those eyes so distinctive to Remy LeBeau. Jean's and Xavier's hands cover mine, their telepathy winding a cage around us within Remy's public mind.

But it is Warren's hand on my shoulder, his feathers tickling the back of my neck, that give me the courage to throw open the gates of Gambit's mind beyond that cage.

The sheer volume of emotions overwhelms me as I climb into the whirlpool of memories and pain that is Remy's mind. His mental 'body' screams in pain, as 'room' after 'room' in his mansion-mind goes dark1. He huddles in the corner of his mind, still screaming and cringing away from me as I advance.

If I had more time, I would cajole him into following me. As it is, I simply grab his 'hand' and drag Remy after me, winding my way past the darkening halls with him still pleading and screaming in a way that makes me cringe inside.

The hand on my shoulder tightens painfully as I throw my head back, emerging from Remy's mind with the Cajun's consciousness still firmly in hand. His eyes open underneath the six telepathic hands over his face, and he tries to sit up with a groan. Huge blue hands gently but insistently shove our trembling hands away and press Remy back down on the rug. I fall back, leaning into Warren, grateful beyond words for his tall presence. Tucking me between his bent knees to lean against his chest in a position that at another time would have made my own knees weak, he hold my upper arms with a hand on each, and watches with me as Beast carefully takes a blood sample from Gambit.

Rogue takes my place on the floor, cradling her husbands' head against the slight bulge of her stomach, crying softly as Remy's hands feebly try to comfort her. The elegant fingers, usually so deft, are clumsy and heavy as they stroke her thigh and try to reach her face. She bends down so he can brush his hand through her hair, tears falling into his own auburn locks. His mouth moves in silent French. My eyes feel painfully slow as I glance around to look at the others.

Scott is supporting Jean, who appears to be turning a delicate shade of green, while Logan and Aurora are on each side of the Professor, his useless legs folded out at an angle from the rest of his body, and the bald head shiny with sweat, but otherwise calm.

_Princess Bride_, still on, makes everyone jump as somebody laughs onscreen in the unexpected silence. Kurt and Kitty are wrapped around each other by the couch, Kitty with her fist shoved against her mouth as she watches Remy with silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Diane, Rahne, and Jubilee are all stunned in the doorway, Jubes with her hair in a half twist and an enormous beach towel wrapped tightly around her.

Bobby draws everyone's attention as he turns the now uncharged wheelchair back upright and pushes it over the shattered clock to the Professor. Gears and glass crunch under his feet and the smooth metal wheels.

Logan grunts at Iceman and picks up the mutant gently and replaces him in his chair. His hand finds its way automatically to the controls before Wolverine has even fully reseated him.

"Henry, if I may, I suggest we all retire to the medical wing. Now."

wWw

Warren waited for Tris to respond to the summons as everyone else in the room moved towards the door, most breathing a sigh of relief, a few still crying. Jubilee disappeared in the opposite direction as the med lab, presumably to get dressed.

And still Tris stayed against his chest, head lolling to one side as she gasped for air.

Beast glanced over his shoulder, taking his attention away from the impromptu gurney made from a coffee table Logan had ripped the legs off of. Jean was kinetically assisting the wooden plank down to the med bay, hands on either side of her forehead with Scott in close pursuit.

"It is probable that you may need to assist her."

Nodding, Warren stood slowly upright, pulling Tris after him. After the first initial pull, during which she felt like dead weight, Path shook her head and staggered upright under her own power. Pushing herself away from Warren, her shoulders squared as she turned her head to smile shakily at him before following the procession down to the labs. Warren caught up to her just in time to squeeze into the crowded elevator.

The x-men, clearly separated into couples in the case of Kurt and Kitty, or friends in the case of Rahne and Diane, all looked around blankly. Warren felt himself matching their stunned expressions. Somehow, this was more personal than during the battle... more frightening...

_There's no enemy to fight _he realized with a burst of intuition. It was true, in their missions the mansion occupants had a desired end, be it defensive or offensive, rescuing or capturing. No matter what, even in the midst of chaos and injury, there was a constant goal to check progress against.

But what kind of goal could be made when your team members were injuring themselves, without a tangible cause?

The elevator doors hissed open to reveal the sterile white and steel of the med lab halls. The mutants filed out and headed left, towards the observation room. Tris halted in front of him, swayed, and then shoved her way rudely between Kitty and Kurt, shoving the blue teleporter against the wall. Warren excused himself through the resulting tangle of tails and wings as Diane stumbled when Tris brushed against her as well before jogging after his partner.

She turned into the operating room, pausing in the doorway just long enough for Warren to catch up. He coughed, catching his breathe from the small exertion.

Remy was reclining on the table, his head still propped up by Rogue, who was hovering2 next to her husband. The coffee table lay discarded against the wall, propped carelessly against the silver paneling. He nodded at Tris and Warren, smiling weakly, the red on black eyes open.

"Don' t'ink I' be here if' weren' fer y' p'tite."

Rogue patted his hand, her other palm cradling her abdomen protectively. Remy placed his hand over hers, the two intertwining fingers with Rogue's gloves to protect them. Jean watched the move, and then looked at Scott through the glass, an expression Warren couldn't make out stamped across her classic features.

Hank broke the mood, snapping his fingers for needle and thread, an impatient movement so unlike him that Warren blinked in surprise. Tris moved closer to watch as Henry carefully cut away Remy's shirt to reveal a line of stitching, most of it torn with drops of dark blood dribbling down the Cajun's chest. Rogue's jaw tightened.

The rest of team appeared in the observation room, a sheet of clean glass separating them from the rest of the room. Diane mouthed something at Tris, motioning to come around to the other room. Tris shook her head and stepped closer to the table before frowning at Xavier. The Professor turned his head away from the stitching progress to look at her, his own brow furrowing as they stared at each other.

And then, with a suddenness that made Rogue look up in shock from Remy's face, Tris turned and grabbed Warren's wrist. He winced as the delicate bones ground together under her grip.

"Warren, get everyone in here." She watched his face, seeing the confusion mixed with pain. Looking down, she released his wrist and grimaced in apology. "Sorry."

Nodding and massaging his burned fingers, Angel turned to find his way to the observation room.

xXx

I stand behind Xavier, Warren at my elbow. He hasn't left my side since he got back from summoning the team into the now crowded med bay. Xavier, recovered outwardly except for the slight tremor in his voice, clears his throat.

"It's not a telepathic attack as far as Jean, Tris, and myself can tell. However," and his eyes slide over the crowd to focus on me, "it is possible that Remy's collapse may have something to do with Tris' accident. If someone could tell me what happened...?"

That's the Professor for you every time. He could just pluck the information from their minds in greater detail than they could ever hope to tell it, but instead asks for verbal renditions.

Kurt steps forward, Kitty detaching herself from the older mutant and instead latching onto Bobby when the teleporter puts her hand in the Boston teenager's. Iceman appears to be shocked, eyeing Kurt as he strokes his former girlfriend's hair.

"It vas too fast, Professor. Remy vas sitting in ze chair, an'..." He held his two-fingered hands out helplessly. Rogue speaks up from by the med table.

"He had his head in mah lap, an' he wen' all rigid... then he yelled, an' jumped up away from meh, holdin' his head." She stroked Gambit's hair as Xavier nodded. Kitty sniffed, before adding her input.

"It was like, he didn't, like, know who we were... he looked at us and then fell over and started these convulsion things." She buries her face in Bobby's shoulder. Out of us all, Kitty is the most innocent, from a family that was at the least supportive of her. Even Bobby came from a worse background than our Valley girl.

Remy coughs loudly. Beast turns away from his computer screen, test results from Gambit's blood sample flickering across the screen. I look at Xavier, who is waiting for Remy to speak.

"It was like I couldn' see da room... m'head hurt s'much dat I couldn' see."

Xavier leans forward in his chair, hands steepled. Beside me, Warren shifts uncomfortably as Rahne growls. Hoping to hear the Professors verdict, I place a hand on each of them.

"Henry, any results?"

Hank begins to shake his head, before thumping his fist against the table top. An ancient Twinkie wrapper flutters to the ground.

"Charles, the same strain of antibodies is currently infesting Remy's body as I found in the preliminary scan on Tristen. However, there is not an apparent cause for the influx in either case."

Deciphering the Hank-dialect in my mind, I open my mouth to argue before I can help it. Why didn't anyone tell me I had an 'influx' of antibodies? What the hell...

Warren finishes my thoughts out loud, if perhaps in his own way.

"Hank, I didn't pass biology in high school."

A shy giggle, bordering on a sob, from Kitty softens the mood from incomprehensibly terrifying to almost humorous. The room seems to realize all at once that Remy will be alright, that Hank has some idea of what's going on, and that the Professor can fix it. Above all, I think wryly, everyone on this team, including myself, holds an unbreakable belief that the professor can fix anything given enough time and resources. Even Henry smiles before rubbing his chin with the back of a furry blue hand.

"In layman's terms, antibodies are produced by specific white blood cells in the body, T-Cells, in response to a pathogen of some kind. These antibodies are used by the immune system to enfold and 'tag' those pathogens, allowing the body to find them and destroy the unwanted material."

Xavier waits, but Henry seems to think that everyone should understand what he just said and turns back to his printout, muttering and gnawing on the earpiece of his glasses. The Professor picks up the discussion.

"What Dr. McCoy is trying to say, is that both Tris' and Remy's bloodstream show identical traces of these antibodies, which are manufactured by your bodies for specific infections3. However, he is unable to find a source for the antibody production."

I nod slowly. Kitty is whispering something into Kurt's ear while Bobby looks jealously on. "So, we have smoke but no fire?"

Xavier smiles at me, turning the wheelchair deftly to face Remy. "To put it quaintly, yes. Neither of you exhibit an infection or viral invasion of any kind."

Jean slaps her open hand down on the table with a loud _clang_.

"Henry, did you try the glucose nutrient auger plates4?"

Hank nods, and then suddenly snaps his fingers before swiveling in the chair to rummage through his conveniently close refrigerator. Even in my semi-stunned state I wince at the combination of old sandwiches, pizza crust, and medicine that adorns the shelves. For being so type-A with everything else, Henry certainly is a slob when it comes to his desk and fridge.

Taking a small bottle out, he replaces his glasses, tucking the battered earpieces behind his pointed blue ears. The vial, engulfed in his hand, rattled against the table as he sets it gingerly down before picking up a miniscule needle. Every set of eyes in the room, including mine, watches as the tiny syringe slips through the vials rubber top and draws a few cc's of purple stain.

Holding up another vial, this time almost full of Remy's blood, Hank squints behind his glasses before adding the sample, along with some of the purple stain, to a glass slide. Bobby kicks a trash can as he turns to open the door. The metal reverberates loudly in the silent room, but nobody turns to look at the perpetrator.

Hank bends over a microscope, dwarfing the instrument as he fiddles delicately with the dials. It doesn't take more than a moment for him to draw away defeated.

"I am unable to gather any information using the gram stain. I think it is highly probable that I can give you," he nods and Remy and me, "more information tomorrow after the auger plates have had sufficient time to finish culturing."

Xavier nods, and motions us out of the room. I follow Warren, knowing that I won't be getting any sleep tonight.

* * *

1 For those of you who have not read Thomas Harris (him and Stephan King are great if you really want to be up late anyway!), Hannibal Lector, the main bad guy, utilizes a 'mansion' in his mind to remember tiny details and facts. I decided to roughly base my idea of what the 'physical' representation of the telepathic world looks like on this description

2 This Rogue has already absorbed Carol, so she has the invulnerability and flight abilities

3 It's why most people don't get chicken pox again... your body already has that disease 'tagged' in it's memory banks so it knows right away to attack and kill it.

4 Ehem... bacterial cultures are grown on 'plates' containing all the things a growing little bacteria needs. A glucose nutrient auger contains extra sugar and auger, which are useful in growing some of the really nastys, like hemorrhagic fever and leprosy... you'll see why I told you later... am I evil or what//pokes Henry for nodding yes//

* * *

On to your very appreciated and warm-fuzzy producing reviews!

**Lady of the Plains: **I'm so glad you're back//glomps// I was afraid I'd driven you away with my long absence… does that makes sense… ? Anyway.. //glomps again// luv ya

**Arden: **Both godesses… why am I not surprised that you, in all of your shiny genius, thought of this!? Henry says hey, and sends along a furry hug //looks down// Where's my sticky roller lol? Smack Logan for me… we really need to work on his manners… hug him too, while you're at it? And I will NEVER outgrow you… you're like a part of me anymore… :-) luv ya, and thanks again for the beautiful beta job!


End file.
